


The Laws Of Being A Human

by ArticulateFiction



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Being Human - Freeform, Bunker Fic, Comedy, Cooking, Cute, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Driving, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Holding Hands, Human Castiel, Humor, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Romantic Comedy, SPN - Freeform, Shaving, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tattoo, cas - Freeform, castiel makes a sandwich, frustrated cas, mundane tasks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 67,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArticulateFiction/pseuds/ArticulateFiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very human Castiel shows up at the bunker. Dean&Sam must guide him through the regular acts of being a human (such as eating, washing his clothes, bathing, etc.). While Cas is beyond frustrated with these mundane tasks, Dean and Sam are thoroughly enjoying themselves trying to teach him the basic necessities of being human. -Slow-building Destiel, plenty of fluff, and all kinds of fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where Do We Go From Here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first supernatural fic, so please be kind!
> 
> I promise promise promise the humour and fun stuff comes after this first chapter, I just had to put this in there to set up the story.

  
\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

 

CHAPTER 1:

Where Do We Go From Here?

 

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

 

When Castiel finally shows up at the Winchesters’ new home base (aka, the bunker), he looks absolutely wrecked.

As soon as he opens the door to the barely-audible knocking coming from the other side, Dean can hardly believe he’s looking at the same angel that he saw only a week before. Cas’ skin is paler than normal (and he didn’t think it could get much paler than it had been, but surprise-surprise), his breathing is abnormal, and his eyes are half drooping as he uses the door’s frame to try to hold himself up. Not even the darkness of the night can hide the horrible, black bags under his eyes as he struggles to keep himself standing. He’s not even dressed in his usual attire, sporting a new hoodie and jeans, both of which are covered in dirt, leaves and God only knows what else.

It takes Dean a couple of seconds for the initial shock of seeing his formerly-indestructible friend this way before he snaps out of it and immediately rushes to his side, lifting Cas’ arm over his shoulder and helping him into the bunker. The two remain wordless as they navigate through the entrance and into what has become the bunker’s living room. Dean carefully lowers Cas into a sitting position on the couch and slips his arm off of his shoulders, using a hand on Cas’ chest to steady him as he flops to one side, head flopping onto the arm rest.

“Cas?” Dean starts, watching as Cas’ eyes immediately start to close.

Cas doesn’t even try to open his eyes as he grunts out an “Mm?”

Dean can see that his friend is absolutely exhausted, but he has to make sure he’s not going to wake up tomorrow morning with an unconscious ex-angel on the couch. “Cas”, he says again, softly shaking Cas’ shoulder in an attempt to keep him awake. “Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you since you called a few days ago when we were still in the hospital. Does anything hurt? How did you even get here?”

“Walked”, Cas mumbles, his eyes still refusing to open for Dean. “Bussed, ran out of money… v’been walking for the past… 2 and a half days.” It’s strange for Dean to see his friend so tired, and his stomach twists in that way that’s usually only reserved for worrying about Sam.

“Is anything bleeding or hurting?” he asks again as his eyes give him a quick onceover wherever he can see skin, trying to keep the panic in his voice to a minimum. “Just answer me and I’ll let you sleep.”

Cas opens his eyes a bit more at the change of tone in his voice and slowly looks in Dean’s direction, although Dean can’t be sure he’s actually looking at him by how unfocused his eyes look. “I believe I am alright. But I have only managed to sleep once since we last spoke, and it was under a tree on the side of a road. The sticks on the ground were very pointy. It was not, in any way, enjoyable. May I please sleep on your couch now?”

Dean isn’t entirely convinced that Cas is 100% fine, but he seems coherent enough and he looks as tired as he sounds. He reluctantly decides Cas should be fine by himself on the couch tonight, and that he can check him more thoroughly in the morning. He briefly entertains the idea of moving Cas to one of the many spare bedrooms within the bunker, but Cas’ eyes are already closed again, his breathing has slowed, and he’s clearly already asleep. He stands up and gently lifts Cas’ legs onto the couch, stretching them out and moving Cas into a proper laying-down position. He grabs the blanket off of the back of the couch and drapes it over his friend’s body, tucking it under his feet and pulling it all the way up to his chin.

He turns off the lamp on the table beside the couch, the sole remaining light source in the rather large room, and tip-toes down the hallway to his bedroom. He opens the door and slips inside, quietly closing it behind him and padding over to his bed. He sits on the edge of it as he begins to strip off his t-shirt and old, worn-out jeans, and leaves them in a small pile at the end of the bed. Clad in nothing but his boxer briefs and his socks, he slips under the sheets, lays his head on the pillow and stares at the ceiling.

There are a lot of conflicting emotions running ramped through his mind at the return of his used-to-be-maybe-still-is best friend. When he first got that phone call from him in the hospital, it was easy to cut straight to the point and make sure that Cas was okay, to let him know that whatever it is that he did can be put behind them as long as he comes back now in their time of need. But now that Cas is actually here with him at the bunker, he knows they will have to actually talk about things in length tomorrow once they are both awake.

Sam has only been home from the hospital for a couple of days, and although he is no longer at risk of dying, he is nowhere near being at full strength. He’s only left his bed to use the bathroom since arriving back at the bunker, eating in bed when Dean brings him food and sleeping at all other times.

Which means that Dean will essentially be alone with Cas tomorrow. There is _no_ getting out of the conversation that needs to happen between them. He thinks about the anger he felt when Cas left them at the church, the confusion at the sight of all the angels falling around them, knowing somehow that Cas had played a part in that. He thinks about the relief of hearing Cas’ voice on the other line of that cell phone, assuring him that he is fine and that he did not intentionally hurt the angels, that he was tricked by someone he believed to be a friend. He thinks about what Castiel used to be, a powerful, soldier of Heaven, fighting alongside the brothers that make up Heaven’s army. He thinks of what Cas has now become, a powerless human stuck in the middle of Kansas with nobody in the world on his side besides himself and Sam.

He wants to yell at Cas, make him feel bad for everything he’s ever done to Dean, but more than that he finds that he wants to comfort him. He wants to make him understand that despite what’s happened, despite the fact that his entire family has turned against him and is out for his head, he still has Dean and Sam. And in the end, that’s what’s important. They can work through this just like they’ve worked through so many other things.

If there’s ever been a time when Dean needed an ally, a _friend_ , now would be it, and he’s willing to bet Castiel feels the same way right now. He’s not willing to or going to let Cas walk out of his life over this, not again. And with that final realization in mind, Dean allows sleep to carry him off until morning.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Castiel wakes up in the morning with a slight crick in his neck, but overall feeling much better than he’s felt in recent days since his transformation into a full-blown human. He recognizes that this is mostly due to the fact that he had the luxury of sleeping on a soft, warm surface last night, without having to worry about strangers robbing him, animals trying to eat him, or fallen angels finding him under his sleeping tree. But part of him can’t help but argue that the bigger reason he feels so much better today is because of where he is.

Knowing that he is back at the familiar bunker, that his only two friends left in the world are here with him, somehow makes this entire situation much more bearable than it was when he was struggling on his own. Being here provides him with a sense of homeliness that he hasn’t felt in Heaven for a long time, and he’s happy to stay as long as they are willing to let him.

He’s roused from his thoughts at the smell of food cooking on the stove, something he hasn’t smelt for a very long time. He had been surviving off of vending machines over the past week as he travelled across the states trying to get to Kansas. The smells wafting through the air are enough to make him quietly moan at the thought of being able to sink his teeth into actual, hot food. The sudden and intense need for food is a relatively new experience for Castiel, but he recognizes hunger for what it is.

He slowly swings his sore and over-used legs over the edge of the couch, finding them to be tangled up in a blanket that Dean must have put over top of him last night. He can’t help but feel grateful that Dean allowed him into the bunker for the night without any hesitation whatsoever, considering what’s conspired between them recently.

He stands up and stretches out his limbs as far as he can before following the wonderful scents coming from across the hall. He enters the kitchen to find Dean standing at the counter, taking what appears to be bacon out of a pan and putting equal amounts of it onto two plates that already both have a couple of eggs each on them. He waits at the doorway in silence as he watches Dean pick up both plates and turn around, jumping a little at the sight of Castiel standing there.

“I see you still enjoy making people mess their pants by sneaking up on them, even with the lack of angel-mojo…” he says with Dean’s classic brand of sarcasm, rolling his eyes as he brings the plates to the small, round table in the centre of the room. “Come sit and eat this. You look like you could use a hot meal… or ten.”

Castiel watches as Dean casually sits down in front of one of the plates of food and begins shovelling eggs into his mouth. He looks up at him again, mouth still full as he chews, and gestures again for Cas to sit across from him with his fork. Cas gives him a small, polite smile and sits himself down at the table, thoroughly enjoying the smell of bacon once again before picking up a piece and taking his first bite.

He slowly chews the bacon, allowing the flavour to cover his tongue. He doesn’t think he’s ever tasted anything so good in his entire existence, and he accidentally lets a small moan fall out of his mouth as his eyes instinctively close in pleasure on their own.

A small laugh from the other side of the table makes him snap open his eyes to see Dean watching him, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I take it we like bacon?” he asks, not even trying to hide the smile spreading across his face.

Castiel can feel heat burning under his face and neck, something he’s pretty certain results from what humans call “blushing”. “I apologize. I haven’t eaten anything that actually constitutes as food since becoming human. Although I have eaten quite a lot of what you call “Cheetos” over this past week.”

 “Hey, don’t worry about it,” Dean replies, a smile still pulling at his lips. “I’ll take it as a compliment to my cooking.” Castiel gives him another small smile in return and carries on eating his breakfast, savouring every bite. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to go back to vending machine food after experiencing bacon.

They carry on eating in silence for a few more minutes before Dean speaks again. “So, there are a few different bedrooms down the hallway that you can choose for yourself once we’re done eating. I’m probably going to have to go get some bedding out of the storage once you decide on one, but the mattresses are all super comfortable. A lot better than that couch out there... Plus it’ll give you a space that’s all to yourself, no Winchesters getting in the way. Oh, and we’re gonna’ have to get you some new digs now too since you can’t just snap your fingers for instant laundry service anymore.”

The sheer casualness of Dean’s voice as he talks fills Castiel with a certain kind of warmth that he only seems to feel on occasions that he spends time with Dean. He hadn’t been sure if Dean was going to be willing to let him stay at the bunker for very long, but he’s been led to believe in the past that a person having their own room is a sign of permanence in a residence.

“You are allowing me to stay?” he asks quietly, wanting to hear it for himself just in case he is misreading the situation.

Dean suddenly stops chewing and looks at him, his eyebrows pulling together as he gives him a very familiar “are you stupid?” look. He swallows what’s left in his mouth and carefully sets down his fork, bringing his elbows up onto the table and resting his chin on top of the fist that his hands have made.

“Okay,” he sighs, hands un-fisting and coming up to rub his face in exasperation. “We need to talk. I know that neither of us want to, but this needs to happen and it needs to happen now. Because if we’re at a point where you’d even question whether or not I want you here, then we’re worse off than I thought.” His tone is firm, but Castiel can hear a small amount of hurt in his voice as he speaks. The thought of hurting Dean _again_ is more than enough for him to get over his insecurities and dive into the conversation that neither of them wants to have.

“Very well,” he nods, setting his fork down as well and mentally preparing himself with all the apologies, feelings and other things he’s been wanting to express to Dean for a very, very long time.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

It takes over 2 hours to hash everything out (which is _a lot_ of talking for two people as emotionally constipated as Dean and Castiel), but Dean is confident that their talk has made the way for a relatively smooth transition in their relationship. He’s listened to Cas’ apologies, offered up a few of his own, and while it’s not something that’s just going to instantly go away because of a lengthy, girly talk, he’s at least sure that Cas won’t be taking off again anytime soon. He’s also pretty certain now that Cas _wants_ to be here as much as Dean needs him here, which helps calm his nerves a great deal. He doesn’t think he can handle the idea of Cas out on his own after what he witnessed last night, and he isn’t sure he’d be able to get over another abandonment on Cas’ behalf. He intentionally left that bit out of their conversation, but part of him believes that Cas may have figured that much out on his own.

They’re still sitting at the small kitchen table in front of their empty plates, both emotionally drained and evidently finished saying everything they wanted to for the time being. “Well,” says Dean, finally standing up and reaching for Cas’ plate before grabbing his own, “I think we’ve had about enough of this girl-talk to last us an entire year. How about we do up the dishes from breakfast and then make Sam something to eat? Dude still can’t get out of bed for anything but a full bladder.”

Castiel’s eyes seem to sadden at that, but he nods in agreement and stands from the table, taking one of the plates from Dean and following him to the sink. Dean puts the sink stopper in one half of the double sink and starts to fill it with warm water, Cas standing beside him waiting for instruction the entire time.

“Alright, your first lesson in humanity: Clean up after yourself. Seriously. Because things will start to turn green and smell, and nobody wants to live in a massive, bio-hazardous bunker. Got that?” he asks, stern expression on his face as he points an accusing finger near Cas’ face. Cas simply nods in understanding, his mouth forming a tight line on his face. “Good,” says Dean, turning back towards the sink.

Cas watches as Dean fills the sink with the dishes he made making breakfast, as well as the dishes the two of them just ate off of. He turns off the water once it’s full enough, and grabs the sponge that sits on the counter beside the sink. “This,” he says, holding the sponge up to Cas’s face, “is the dish-washing sponge. We don’t use it to clean anything but the dishes because we have to eat off of these, and we don’t want cleaning chemicals or anything getting onto our dishes.” Cas nods again, taking in the information like the very sponge Dean holds in his hand.

“Okay,” Dean continues, throwing the sponge into the sink full of water. “All you have to do is fill the sink with a splash of soap and warm water, add the dirty dishes, and scrub away all the food with the sponge. Sound easy enough?”

Castiel nods again, gently pushing Dean to the side to make room for himself to stand in front of the sink full of water. He puts his hands into the water and feels around for the sponge, taking it and a dirty plate out of the water once he finds them. He starts to gently scrub at the plate with the sponge, being extra careful to get every last bit of food off before smiling proudly to himself, apparently deciding it’s clean enough and dropping it back into the sink full of dishwater.

“No, no, no, no. We don’t put the dish _back_ in the water once we’ve finished washing,” Dean says, bumping elbows with Cas as he tries to fish the clean plate out of the water. Cas’ smile falters and he stiffens at the realization that he’s done something wrong. Dean finally finds what he’s looking for and pulls it out before continuing. “What we do now is put the dish on the dish rack, that way the water falls off of it and it dries while you work on washing the other dishes. Once they’ve all been washed, we put the dry dishes away in the cupboards.” He stops and walks over to quickly grab the tea towel hanging off of the oven handle before making his way back towards the sink. “However, since it’s the two of us doing the dishes together, I can just dry them myself with the towel and put them away while you wash. Sound good?”

Castiel seems to relax a bit at that, and nods his head in agreement. “Sure, Dean. That sounds fine.” He turns back to the sink and takes up the sponge again, cleaning the next dish and then passing it off to Dean so that he can dry it and put it away. Dean had been a bit worried that showing Cas how to do “human things” would require a lot of effort and patience on his part, but Cas seems to be getting the hang of things rather quickly and it no longer seems like something he needs to be concerned about.

They carry on like this in comfortable silence, Castiel washing and Dean drying. Every once in a while Cas looks up from his sink to look at Dean, searching out his approval in his washing abilities. Dean gives him an encouraging grin and continues drying the dishes, but not before noticing the small smile Castiel gives him in return.

Maybe they aren’t 100% okay yet, but Dean is confident that they will get there, no matter how slowly it takes them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's Chapter 1, friends! Again this is just to get the story started. The second and following chapters will feature more of Cas' attempts at navigating the Human world and more Destiel.
> 
> Comments and suggestions are appreciated, thanks for reading!
> 
> -ArticulateFiction :)


	2. The Sandwich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas make a sandwich for Sam, much to Sam's chagrin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is chapter 2, as promised to be posted with Chapter 1 (since Chapter 1 is a bit of a downer). This is where we get more into the fun stuff. It’s much lengthier, so be prepared to read! :)

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

 

CHAPTER 2:

The Sandwich

 

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Castiel feels much better about things between himself and Dean after their long discussion. He was surprised that it had gone on so long, considering how much Dean usually tries to avoid discussions like those. It makes him feel as though perhaps he means more to Dean than he had originally thought; there aren’t many people Dean has in his life that he is all but willing to admit to missing when they’re gone.

He feels content helping Dean with the dishes, wanting to be able to help out as much as possible. His fingers are becoming wrinkly and it takes quite a bit of effort to scrub the bacon pan, but Dean and Sam are taking him into their new home, and for that Castiel realizes that he must contribute as much as he can. He doubts he would make it in this world very long without their guidance.

Once they’ve finished the dishes, Dean drains the sink and they wipe down the counters (not with the designated “dish-washing” sponge, of course). The two turn to face each other and without the distraction of doing chores, the silence between them suddenly becomes awkward. It’s Dean who breaks it first, awkwardly switching from one foot to the other.

“So, err… Sammy’s been able to keep soup down for the past couple of days. Maybe it’s time we have him try something a little more solid. Whaddaya say?”

Castiel just blinks at him as he tries to think of a solid food that Sam may like. What does Sam eat besides salad? Salad can hardly be considered _solid_ , right?

“Well, perhaps he would like some bacon” he finally says, thinking of how amazing that bacon had tasted on his tongue a few hours ago. “I know that I more than enjoyed it...”

Dean huffs in laughter at that suggestion. “Nah, his stomach doesn’t handle grease well even when he’s _not_ down and out. I was thinking more along the lines of a good ol’ sandwich”, Dean says, his face very reminiscent of a child who speaks of his favourite dessert. “Plus, if I teach you how to make sandwiches, you should be able to feed yourself for the rest of eternity.”

Castiel winces a bit at the choice of worse, silently thinking to himself that his human-self will be lucky to live for another 50 years, let alone eternity. He swallows down the sudden pang of loss before refocusing his attention on Dean who is staring at him with a bit of concern in his expression, waiting for an answer.

“Is it a difficult process?” he finally asks, not really certain what goes into creating a sandwich.

The concern in Dean’s face is quickly replaced with amusement. “Process? It’s making a sandwich, Cas. C’mon man, people do this every day!”

Again, the choice of words causes Castiel to think about what he has become. And just like that, his mood goes from perfectly content to completely distraught. He can’t stop the strong wave of sadness that washes over him this time and his next words seem to tumble out of his mouth on their own. “Right…” he says, eyes quickly falling to stare at his own feet, “because I suppose I am a “people” now, aren’t I…” He doesn’t mean for it to sound as bitter as it comes out, but he’s starting to feel the loss of his angelic grace more and more, and it _hurts_.

“Hey…” says Dean, the amused face immediately wiping off of his face and contorting into something more along the lines of pity. “Cas,” he starts again, stepping a bit closer to Castiel as he talks. “Look, it’s not so bad…” Cas slowly lifts his head back up to look Dean in the eyes. The green orbs that he’s come to find so much comfort from in the past are now filled with so much sympathy, and it makes Castiel feel that much more pathetic.

“Maybe not, Dean, but being an angel is all I have ever known. Not to mention my brothers and sisters that I can no longer communicate with, never mind see again...” He thinks of his siblings, what has happened to them, or rather what Castiel has _done_ to them. None of them will be as lucky as he is to have Dean and Sam guide them through the quirks of humanity. His eyes fall back to his feet, and he feels a prickly feeling in the corner of his eyes as his vision becomes watery.

“Oh, come on man...” he hears Dean say quietly, his voice suddenly a bit closer than it had been before. “You’re ruining sandwich time with all of your… sad… stuff, and stuff….” Castiel keeps his eyes trained at his feet, not wanting to look up at the risk of crying in front of Dean. “Besides, not to rub salt in the wounds or anything, but I don’t know how interested the angels are in _communicating_ with you right now any ways… Maybe some time apart is the best thing for you right now. Let them cool off a bit.” Castiel hates to have to agree with him, but he knows in his heart that despite his intentions, his angel brethren will not take kindly to having been stripped of their wings.

Dean hesitates a little before continuing. “You know you have Sammy and me, and we’ll help you. With everything. S’probably the least we can do… You do know that, right Cas?”

It’s the sadness in Dean’s voice that finally makes Castiel look up, teary eyes and all. “Of course,” he breathes out quietly. “It’s more than I would ever ask for myself, Dean. I don’t think you understand how much it means to me to know that you and Sam are here for me. Especially now.” And he truly believes that. Dean has every reason to turn him away, and yet he allows him to stay, every time.

Dean holds his stare for a few seconds before giving an exasperated sigh and looking up at the ceiling, his eyes blinking away what Castiel could swear were potential tears of his own. He feels a moment of uncertainty at his choice of words, but the next thing he knows Dean’s arms are wrapping around him and he’s being pulled close to his chest into a hug. He can feel Dean’s chin weighing on his shoulder, and his arms instinctively come up to wrap around Dean and return the embrace. There have only been a few hugs between them throughout the course of their relationship, but Castiel feels more from this one hug than he’s ever felt before.

“S’alright, really…” Dean half-whispers, his arms still gripping Castiel tightly. “Just… try to make the best of it, okay? If you’re having troubles, you come to me or Sam. And we’ll help you, every time. But you gotta at least try to enjoy human…ism, or whatever you call it…, okay? I need for all of us to be strong. I can’t be strong unless you guys are strong for me.”

Castiel feels a rush of warmth run over him as Dean speaks, and if he didn’t understand science better than he does he would have sworn his heart was trying to burst right out of his human chest. Of course he’s still miserable about losing all contact with his brothers and sisters, about losing his powers, having to start from scratch as an entirely different species in a world he barely understands. But he has Dean, he has Sam, and he needs to stay strong for them. The least he can do is make a sincere effort at enjoying this new life he shares with them. And this is when he promises to himself that he will try his very best at mastering “humanism” and will be there for them like they have been there for him over the years.

“I will,” he finally answers, his voice coming out much thicker and quieter than he is used to. “I promise.”

“Good,” replies Dean, his arms still gripping Castiel in the hug. His arms remind Castiel of the warm feeling he got when he could finally see the bunker in the distance up the road last night, the feeling of being _home_ , and he grips Dean a little bit tighter himself.

A couple of minutes go by before Castiel starts trying to remember what the standard protocol for hugging is amongst humans. He hardly has the best example to go off of with Dean and Sam around, but he’s still pretty confident that this hug is lingering much longer than hugs usually last for.

“So,” he says, his voice back to normal. “Sandwiches. We should create them now…” It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy the hugging, (in fact, he probably prefers this to any other form of physical human contact he’s experienced thus far), but he doesn’t want to embarrass Dean by lingering when he shouldn’t.

Dean starts suddenly, pulling his body back but keeping his hands perched on Castiel’s shoulders. His face looks a bit flushed (he’s still pretty sure it’s called “blushing”), but he quickly regains his composure as Castiel’s words sink in.

“Create…” he says, his face scrunching up in thought as he looks around the room. “Hm… I like it!” he finally says, giving Cas one of those big, Dean Winchester smiles. “It sounds very heavenly, very _you_.”

Castiel feels himself smile at the reference and nod in agreement, and Dean laughs a little as he releases Castiel’s shoulders. “Alright then,” he says, slapping Castiel’s back in a buddy-buddy way and giving him a quick wink. “Let’s go _create_ some sandwiches then.”

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

“First step in making a sandwich: collecting some kickass ingredients to make it with,” Dean says cheerfully, walking over to the fridge and opening it wide, scanning the shelves for some sort of lunch meat. “Hm, looks like we have ham, turkey, and some roast beef.” He pulls all three out of the fridge and shuts the door with his hip, turning to Cas. “What are you craving?”

He watches as Castiel ponders his question like he just asked him what the meaning of life is, and he can’t help the fondness he feels and the smile that pulls at this lips as he watches Cas’ head tilt to the side in that familiar way.

Eventually, Cas looks back at him to answer the question. “If my observations are correct, ham comes from the same animal that the delicious bacon we had for breakfast comes from. So… I suppose that could be a viable option.”

Dean can feel his eye roll before it even happens. _Only Cas_ …

“But,” Castiel continues, as if this is some sort of philosophical debate between lunch meats, “roast beef comes from the same animal as a cheeseburger does, which is also quite impressive.”

Dean smiles again as he thinks back to when Cas had tried his first cheeseburger, and he mentally sets up a “note to self” to make burgers for dinner sometime soon.

Cas carries on the outspoken war in his mind. “As for turkey…” his face wrinkles, “…have I ever eaten turkey before?”

At that Dean has to laugh a little. He has no idea if Cas has eaten turkey, but if he did clearly it didn’t stick out very well in his mind. “Not that I can think of. But to be perfectly honest, it’s definitely the loser of the bunch.” It is in Dean’s humble opinion that turkey is _okay_ , but it can’t compare to ham or beef. Castiel nods as if he has just been taught an important life lesson, and he can practically see the gears running in Cas’ head as he files the information away.

“Tell you what, how about I make one ham and one beef, then cut them in half, and then we can each have one half of each. That way you get to try both, and we can leave the turkey for the bed-ridden Sam-squatch in there. Sound good?” He’s never seen anyone put so much thought into a damned sandwich before, but he supposes this whole eating thing is going to be somewhat new for Cas, so he’ll humor him just this once.

Castiel gives him a small, grateful smile and nods his agreement. “That sounds fair.”

“Good.” He drops the armful of lunch meat on the counter and heads back to the fridge, opening it again and rifling through the vegetable crisper. “So, now that we have the meat picked out”, he grunts, still hunched over with his ass in the air as he tries to dig out what it is he is looking for, “we can get all that other crap to put with it.” It takes him a minute to fish everything out ( _stupid Sam and all his stupid vegetables crowding up the stupid crisper_ ), but he finally has everything piled in his arms and turns to Cas again.

“We got some tomatoes, lettuce, onion,” he says, dropping them one by one beside the lunch meat as he lists them off, then darts back over to the open fridge. “And then we get some mustard, mayo, and Havarti cheese” He pulls each out of the door of the fridge and allows it to shut behind him, placing the new items by their soon-to-be sandwich companions. “And finally,” he adds excitedly, because this really is the best part, “the pièce to résistance… artisan buns!”

He grabs the buns out of the bread box and turns around to grin at Castiel, only to find his friend staring at him with wide, concerned eyes. “Those are a lot of ingredients to deal with… are you sure this process is an easy one?”

Dean looks back at his small mountain of ingredients and starts to wonder if maybe he should’ve just started with peanut butter and jam. “Hmmmm… Nah, I think you got this,” he says encouragingly, turning back to meet Castiel’s concerned eyes. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” although Dean can’t really be sure about that until he sees Cas in sandwich-making action.

He walks back over to the counter and places the buns with the rest of the ingredients, then grabs the biggest cutting board they have and puts it on the counter with two large knives. He can feel Cas walk up and stand behind him, and turns to see his friend staring down at the pile of food like they’ve come alive and are taunting him.

“I thought you did not like vegetables...?” he says, focusing his attention on the head of lettuce.

“It’s not that I don’t like them,” he answers, grabbing a tomato and bringing it up between them to their eye level, “I just don’t wanna’ eat them on their own.” He grimaces at the shiny red fruit as he thinks about all the times his brother has chosen a salad as an _entrée_ , crazy person that he is. “On a sandwich though, they give it substance.” He puts the tomato back in its spot and looks back at Cas. “Make sense?”

“Not really,” he replies, looking more and more confused as time goes on. “But I will take your word for it. You have yet to feed me anything that I did not enjoy.” Dean smiles at that, because yeah, he’d never willingly give Cas a salad for dinner. “So, vegetables on their own are bad, but vegetables on a sandwich… make it better?”

“Exactly!” says Dean, wanting to get on with making the sandwiches. “ _Now_ you’re getting’ it.” Castiel seems to puff up a bit at that and smiles to himself at the praise. It makes Dean happy to see his friend’s spirits pick-up considering the shaky moment they had not even 5 minutes ago.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road. C’mere and stand beside me, we got some slicing to do.” Cas does as he’s told without a second’s hesitation, his elbow skimming across Dean’s own in a move that would feel strange if it was anyone else but Cas. He welcomes the familiar lack of personal space that his friend has never quite been able to conquer, though, as it brings him a small sense of comfort.

“First,” he starts, reaching for one of the fresh artisan buns, “we have to slice the bun open”. He brings the bun up to his nose first and inhales, losing himself in the bakery-fresh aroma, one of his all-time favourite smells. His mind clicks back to the present to find Cas giving him a questioning look, glancing between Dean’s face and the bun.

“Here, smell”, he says, shoving the bun in Cas’ face. No way is Dean going to keep Cas from experiencing one of the greatest smells in this universe.

Castiel’s expression is still skeptical as he narrows his eyes at Dean, the bun in Dean’s hand directly under his nose. Dean rolls his eyes at him and puts the bun even closer, only a centimeter away from Cas’ nostrils now. He watches as Cas breathes in a deep breath, his expression quickly changing to one of surprise, and then one of complete and utter satisfaction as his eyes close shut and he inhales a second time.

Dean laughs and pulls the bun away, Castiel’s nose trying to follow it down to the cutting board. “See? What did I tell ya’?” He grabs another bun from the bag and hands Cas his knife. “Alright, now watch me.”

He’s somewhat surprised to hear a small huff of laughter fall out of Cas’ lips and turns to see the closest thing he’s ever seen to an eye roll on the ex-angel’s face. “I think I am capable of slicing, Dean.” His face deadpans. “In fact, it may be one of the only skills I have retained since my fall from Heaven.” He holds his hand out and motions towards the bun in Dean’s hand.

Dean’s eyebrows go up to his forehead at the sudden spurt of confidence, but he places the bun in Cas’ outstretched hand and crosses his arms across his chest. “Alright, if you think you know what you’re doing. Slice away, Hannibal.”

Cas quirks an eyebrow and Dean doesn’t even have to ask whether or not Cas understood that reference (he did _not_ understand that reference), but he picks up his knife anyways and cups the bun in his hand, immediately starting to hack through the bun while still holding it. His face looks so concentrated as he saws away, and bits of bread crumble up around the cut and fall all over the cutting board. Dean’s eyes go wide and he quickly interferes before Cas can slice right through to his (very _mortal_ ) hand.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, stop stop stop stop,” he quickly spits out, hands reaching out as fast as they can to steady Castiel’s movements. “You’re gonna’ cut right through to your own hand there, genius. You’re going way to fast.”

Castiel stops what he’s doing and looks back down at the mangled, smushed-up bun, pieces all over the place underneath his and Dean’s hands. His face turns pink and he looks embarrassed as his eyes stay focused on the mess. “Perhaps… I have done it incorrectly.” He gently drops the bun and knife, and looks up at Dean with sad blue eyes. “I apologize. I have ruined the delectable-smelling bread for our sandwich.”

How a person can go from looking like some homicidal maniac slicing through his most recent victim’s limb to looking like a kid who just watched his dog get hit by a tractor trailer, is absolutely beyond Dean. He feels himself instantly soften at Castiel’s devastated expression, something he’s usually only accustomed to doing for _Sam’s_ puppy eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” he says, patting his Cas’ shoulder once before looking down at the mess. He grabs what’s left of the bun and puts it off to the side. “We’ll, uh… just give that one to Sam. Probably won’t be able to tell the difference anyway once he’s passed out again after eating.”

Castiel gives him a put out face at that suggestion, but Dean ignores him and gets a new bun. “Now, watch me this time and I’ll show you how a sandwich artist works” he says, a cocky smirk spreading across his face.

He places the bun on its side on the cutting board, holding it up with his fingers on one side and his thumb on the other. The hand wielding the knife comes up and he lines the knife up on the bun under the arc his hand is making. “See, you gotta' make sure you pull the knife in towards you and then push back out away from you, slowly, so it goes all the way through the bun. No need to hack at it like it’s a piece of meat.” He demonstrates by slowly slicing into the bun, Castiel’s eyes following his every movement.  “And you need to make sure to keep the cut right in the middle of the two halves, that way you don’t get uneven sides.”

He finishes the slice and offers the knife and the other bun to Castiel, but Cas quickly shakes his head no. “I believe it may be in our best interest if you handle the bun-slicing for a while.” Dean shrugs his shoulders and slices the other bun himself, putting it aside with the other ones that he and Cas cut.

“Alright, I did the bun for you but you have to do the rest on your own, okay?” Castiel nods and returns to his standard state of attentiveness.

Dean reaches for two tomatoes and hands one to Cas, placing the other on its side in front of himself and holding it like he did with the bun. “Okay, let’s do this one together now.” Cas turns his tomato around in his hands and it holds it against the cutting board like Dean, their arms against each other once more.

“We have to cut the gross end things off first.” He demonstrates by slowly cutting off each end, Cas watching his hands intently. Once he’s done, he waits for Cas to pick up his knife and slowly replicate Dean’s slicing on his own tomato.

He looks up at Dean waiting for his approval, and Dean gives him a huge grin. “Alright man, that was perfect!” he exclaims, giving Cas a small slap on his back before picking up his knife again. Castiel beams back at him and focuses his attention back on Dean’s hands, the worry in his face from earlier replaced with fulfilment in an expression that Dean might have classified as down-right adorable (you know, if he was a guy who called things adorable).

“Now we slice it, slowly, like so.” He starts slicing as slowly as he can go, despite the fact that he could probably be going twice as fast if he wanted. Castiel follows his lead and carefully slices his tomato, maybe not in as straight of cuts as Dean, but straight enough for a sandwich. They each finish their tomato and Dean says “See? Much easier than speeding through it.”

Cas gives him a shy smile and nods. “I believe I understand now.” Dean smiles in return before sliding the tomatoes off of the cutting board and onto a small plate. He then reaches for two onions and puts one in front of Cas and himself, respectively.

“Okay, for the onions, we have to peel them first. All this flakey skin crap does not make for an appetizing sandwich. Trust me.” He starts to peel his onion and watches from the corner of his eyes as Cas picks up his and stares at it like he’s trying to smite it. Eventually, he tries to peel his onion as well, skin going everywhere. Dean holds his tongue this time, he doesn’t think he can bare to have those disappointed eyes turned on him two times in 5 minutes. They finish peeling (well _Dean_ does, Cas’ onion still has bits of skin sticking out from all ends) and clear the peels into the garbage before setting their onions back down on the cutting board.

“Now slice off the ends like we did with the tomatoes.” Cas nods and they slice of the ends, the smell of onion instantly filling their noses. Judging by the face Cas makes, Dean’s not sure he enjoys that smell very much.

“Just wait until the first time you get to smell onions cooking in a pan,” he says, getting ready to slice the onion. “Alright, we’re just going to slice these the same way as before. Slowly and carefully.” He starts to slice and he can feel Cas’ arms moving to do the same.

It takes about 30 seconds of slicing before Dean feels the onion-tears start to sting his eyes. He’s done this enough times to know to hold his face a bit farther away to avoid any actual crying, but he hears a highly distressed “Dean” from beside him and he realizes he forgot to mention this part to Cas.

“DEAN,” Cas says again, dropping his knife and the unfinished onion. “My human body is malfunctioning, Dean, I am going blind,” he says frantically, his hands instinctively coming up to rub at his eyes.

“Whoa, Cas, hey stop, don’t rub your eyes with the onion juice all over your fingers man, you’ll just make it worse!” He quickly reaches up to grab Cas’ wrists to pull his hands away, turning Cas to face him in the process, but he’s too late. Tears are sliding down Cas’ cheeks and his eyes are pink as he desperately tries to squint and blink the tears away.

“How am I expected to survive _without_ my vision if I can hardly survive _with_ it, Dean?” he squeaks out, his voice so broken-sounding that for all Dean knows these tears are real, not just from the onions.

“Hey, Cas,” he says quietly, doing his best to keep him calm, “you aren’t going blind.”

“Then I am ill,” Cas replies, his tone no longer desperate but rather solemn, as if he’s preparing to be told he’s not going to live more than a week.

Dean’s trying not to laugh, he really is, but Cas can be such a drama queen sometimes. He tries to hide the amusement in his voice as he reassures Cas. “You’re not _ill_ , you lunatic,” and based on the way Cas’ eyebrows knit together and his eyes slowly open to peer at Dean beneath puffy pink lids, he’s going to assume he didn’t do a good job of hiding it.

“You find my pain funny?” Cas growls, trying to make the best “I’m angry” face that he can. Unfortunately, it looks more like a kitten trying to open its eyes a week after being born, and Dean can’t stop the giggle that falls out of his mouth. Cas “stares” daggers at him until Dean manages to subside his laughter. He rolls his eyes, smile still stretched across his face, and grabs Cas’ wrist to pull him over to the sink.

“Where are you taking me, I can’t see where we are going” Cas says angrily, blindly following Dean until the stop in front of the sink. Dean turns the cold water on and grabs Cas’ head, dunking his face into the stream of cold water spilling out of the tap.

Cas instantly starts spluttering, thrashing his arms around before letting them settle on Dean’s shirt and gripping it tight. He pulls himself out of Dean’s grip and from under the water, fists still twisted in Dean’s flannel shirt. “What are you **_doing?_** ” he spits out, face dripping and chest going in and out as he tries to catch his breath.

“Relax, I’m just trying to rinse the onion juice out of your eyes,” Dean replies, slowly steering Cas’ face back to the running water. “And don’t breathe the water in this time, humans can’t breathe in water. I thought that one was a given.”

Cas’ eyebrows knit together, but he allows Dean to stick his face in the water once more, careful not to breathe any of it in. He looks absolutely miserable, and Dean can’t help but feel like he’s trying to drown that poor sleepy-eyed kitten he pictures earlier.

 After about a minute, Dean pulls his face from under the water, one hand on either side of it. “Try to open your eyes so I can check them,” he says, waiting for the inevitable shock of blue to cross his own vision. Cas does as he’s told, and wouldn’t you know it his big baby blues look as blue as ever, no more pink.

“All good?” he asks, watching as Cas’ eyes readjust.

Cas takes a small pause before setting his eyes on Dean’s own, blinking away the remaining water that drips down his face. “I believe so, yes. Thank you, Dean.” Dean gives him a small smile in reply, quickly realizing he’s still holding onto either side of Cas’ face before letting his arms drop to his sides and taking a step back.

“Err, no problem,” he says, clearing his throat. “Let’s get back to those sandwiches, alright? We don’t wanna’ keep Sammy waiting.”

Cas gives him another grateful smile and nods his head, and it’s all Dean can do to try to ignore that fluttery feeling in his stomach at the sight of that smile.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Sam wakes up to gentle shaking, his eyes blinking up to see his older brother standing over him, grin plastered across his face. Ordinarily he’d be happy to see his brother smiling, but this smile reminds him far too much of the smile that Dean used to get when they were kids, waiting for Bobby to fall victim to one of their many pranks.

“Dean…” he says sternly, not really sure what to expect. His entire body is sore and he feels like crap, but not crappy enough to narrow his eyes at Dean in what Dean would definitely refer to as “one of Sam’s patented bitch-faces”.

Dean just smiles even bigger. “Rise and shine, Sammy! Guess who’s found his way back to Casa Winchester!” He gestures behind him, and Sam is surprised to see Castiel standing in the doorway. He’s even more surprised to see that Dean and Cas appear to be on good terms, much better terms than they were on at their last meeting. Either they talked and worked things out, which Sam _highly_ doubts knowing the two of them, or they have both agreed to sweep everything under the rug and continue on with their lives, ignoring the lump in the carpet for the rest of their natural lives.

Cas is holding a plate with some sort of …sandwich?... on it. He gives Sam a small, polite smile, but Sam can see an eagerness underneath it, and possibly what Sam could only place as pride.

“Hey Cas,” he coughs out, trying to sit up in his bed as he gives him the best smile he can muster in his condition. He was there to see what happened to the other angels, and he’s genuinely happy to see Cas with them now. Despite everything, he still cares for his friend, and he’s heard more than enough of Dean ranting about how he hasn’t heard from Cas in several days to know that Dean feels the same way, though he’d never admit it out loud.

“Good afternoon, Sam,” Castiel says, hesitantly stepping over the threshold of the doorway and giving Sam a onceover, a sad expression taking over his face. “You look quite terrible.”

Sam laughs a little at that, because only Cas could say something so blunt and yet still look so concerned.

“It’s really good to see you here, man. I’ve missed having someone intelligent around to talk with.” He gives Dean a quick, smug smirk, because he may be out of the game right now but there’s no reason why he can’t tease his older brother. He’ll never be too sick for that to happen.

“Funny,” Dean replies, standing up straight and giving him a tight, sarcastic smile, both hands coming to rest on his hips. “Hey, how about you eat your sandwich now, hm?” That shit-eating-grin is back, and Sam looks back towards the door and eyes the plate in Cas’ hands suspiciously.

So it _is_ a sandwich.

Cas slowly walks around to the other side of Sam’s bed, stretching out the plate to Sam. He reminds Sam of a kid bringing his mom breakfast in bed on Mother’s day.

Dean’s smile gets impossibly bigger as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. “Cas made this one special for you all on his own. Didn’t ya’ Cas?”

Cas gives Sam another excited smile and nods his head in agreement. “Indeed. Dean taught me how to make them. I would be honoured if you would be the one to eat my very first sandwich,” he says, resting the plate gently on top of Sam’s lap as he talks.

The “sandwich” looks like something Dean fished out of the bottom of a lake and is trying to pass off as Cas’ efforts at cooking just to see Sam eat it. Surely this is one of Dean’s pranks? There’s no way this is edible.

He carefully pokes at it with his finger and immediately pulls his hand away in disgust. It is legitimately _soggy,_ possibly even _slimy_. He bends his head down to take a closer look to make sure there isn’t any sand or algae or mold or _something_ , and that is when he makes the mistake of breathing near the thing.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” he says quietly, his face immediately springing back up and away from the sandwich. The smell of it hits him like a brutal punch to the face, and his eyes start to water as a coughing fit racks through his body, like it’s desperately warning him _not to eat this sandwich._ His nose hungrily seeks fresh air towards the ceiling as he breathes deeply, in and out. What the hell on this planet could possibly emanate a smell so undeniably _foul_?

He looks to Dean, desperately searching for some sort of sign from his brother that this is a joke, waiting for the moment when Dean says he’s kidding and Sam doesn’t have to risk his life eating this thing, but all he finds is Dean trying to hide his laughter in his hands. If this was a joke, he doesn’t think Dean would be trying to hide his laughter, like he’s trying to spare Cas’ feelings…

He then looks to his other side and sees Cas, still giving him the most genuinely prideful smile Sam has ever seen on anyone above the age of 7 years old. He doesn’t seem to notice Dean trying not to laugh or the horror that Sam can guarantee is written across his own face. All Cas cares about is that he made this sandwich and now he gets to share it with his friend, and Sam can feel his heart breaking into tiny pieces at that fact. The realization that he is _actually_ going to have to _eat_ this thing sets in, and he has never wanted to cry more in his life.

A full minute of Sam gaping down at the sandwich goes by before Cas’ smile starts to falter, perhaps realizing that Sam has absolutely no interest in eating his sandwich. “Is something the matter, Sam?” he asks, and Sam’s head snaps up at the sad undertone in Cas’ voice.

 _Oh, dear, God..._ He might as well be looking at a sad puppy who’s been locked outside in the rain, staring hopelessly through the window, a small paw coming up to gently press against it as he quietly cries to be let in. Sam thinks the remaining pieces of his heart have shattered into even smaller pieces, and he stutters for an answer.

Dean finally speaks up before Sam can get anything out. “That’s right Sammy. There’s a _new_ puppy-eye master in this bunker. Get used to it buddy.”

Cas’ attention turns to Dean, confusion drawn all over his face. “Puppy-eye? What does this mean?”

“Nothing!” Sam says, perhaps a bit too loudly. “Don’t worry about it, man.” He knows he will regret the next words that come out of his mouth for a very long time. “Look, I really appreciate this Cas. And I’d, err, be very… _happy_ to try your sandwich. Thank you.”

Cas turns back to Sam looking so _damn_ excited, and Sam knows that he has to eat this sandwich and he has to eat it now. He braces himself before picking it up, trying to hide his repulsion as the sandwich threatens to slip out of his fingers. Yep, definitely slimy.

“Hey, uh, Cas… do you mind if I ask what’s on this sandwich?” He really needs confirmation that this is in fact food, and not just some dog’s leavings rolled around in mucus and put onto a plate.

“Well,” Cas says, like a waiter explaining today’s special, “it has turkey, tomatoes, lettuce, onion-“

“ _Extra_ onion,” adds Dean, his smile still bordering on criminally insane.

“Right, yes. And then we put on some cheese, followed by some mustard and mayo, although I did have some difficulties working the squeeze bottles.” Cas says, a shy smile gracing his lips.

Well that would explain why it’s slimy. And slippery. And soggy…

Dean then clears his throat and Sam snaps his head in his direction. “Don’t forget your secret ingredient, Cas.” All Sam can do is stare at his brother and silently ask him _How could you do this to me?_ , because Sam doesn’t even want to know what secret ingredient Cas could come up with.

Cas is all smiles though as he answers. “Well, I was familiarizing myself with the ingredients in the kitchen, and I came across something called “anchovies”. If my memory serves me correctly, humans seem to very much enjoy anchovies.”

No words. Sam has no words. Clearly Cas’ memory does _not_ serve him correctly, because Sam has yet to meet another person who welcomed anchovies into their meals with open arms. Is memory loss a side effect to losing your grace? Maybe he just got some faulty info? Is pointing this out going to make Cas feel bad about himself? He better not.

He gives Cas a tight, polite smile and nods his head. “You know what, I have actually heard that myself, Cas.” His eyes go back to the slippery sandwich he’s still holding, and he decides this sandwich is going to be is new mortal enemy. “So… guess I’ll just eat my delicious, anchovy sandwich now. Yep. Here I go.” He’s still secretly holding out for all of this to be a joke, for someone to stop him, but it never comes.

Cas and Dean both give him encouraging smiles as he slowly leans his head in and opens his mouth, the smell of it alone enough to make his stomach churn. _Please, God, don’t let this be my undoing_ he silently prays, taking the first bite of what will certainly be lining the toilets the second Cas leaves the room.

The sandwich makes a horrible, squishing sound as he bites, condiments falling onto the plate. The salty, fishy taste of the anchovies overtakes anything else that may or may not be on this sandwich, the food rolling around in his mayonnaise soaked mouth as he chews.

“Mmmmm,” he says dramatically, looking up to see Cas’ face light up in satisfaction. And yeah, that probably makes this whole agonizing process worth it.

“Wow, Cas, are you sure this is your first time making a sandwich?” _This is clearly your first time making a sandwich._ “I can’t believe I never thought of putting anchovies on my turkey sandwich before.” _Because **nobody** has ever thought of this before. _ “I bet you could sell these, they’re so good.” _To people who actively practice torture, because anyone experiencing what I am right now would probably tell you all their secrets and more just to make it stop._

He looks over at Dean, expecting to see him trying not to give himself a hernia by holding his laughter in, but is instead surprised to see him giving him a grateful smile, like he’s silently thanking Sam. He smiles back at him and takes another excruciating bite, his stomach gurgling in response.

“My stomach made those noises a few days ago. I have learnt that means that I am hungry. Would you like me to make you an additional sandwich, Sam?” asks Cas, concern taking over his face once more.

“No, no, I’m sure I’ll be fine as soon as I finish this first one,” Sam says quickly, because there’s only so much of this he can take. Cas smiles at him again and gives him a curt nod in understanding. Sam carries on, taking another bite, Cas watching him the entire time. His brother, on the other hand, seems more enamoured with watching Cas’ glowing smile, a grin of his own on his face.

He gets about halfway in (which really, he should be getting a medal for even managing one bite) before deciding he can’t take any more of this if he wants to live another day and suggests that he finish the rest later after he takes another nap. Cas and Dean agree to leave him alone in peace to nap, and they slip out of the room.

Dean is the last one out, closing the door behind him, but not before mouthing a “thank you” at Sam. Sam smiles in return, a genuine one this time, and if he immediately hobbles over to the toilet in his room’s ensuite bathroom and vomits more than he’s ever vomited before once the door is shut, well Cas will never be the wiser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, hopefully that wasn't too much for you.
> 
> Comments/suggestions are all welcome, and thanks for reading!
> 
> -ArticulateFiction


	3. The Smell of a Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean figures out what that smell is, and Castiel figures out that showers aren't always as pleasant as they are made to look like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So thanks to the most recent episode, my story is now completely off track with the series.
> 
> BY THE WAY, is anyone else incredibly angry with the whole Ezekiel making Dean kick Cas out of the bunker, because I AM!
> 
> This chapter is just short fluff, the next one will likely be longer though. Let me know how you like it!

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

 

CHAPTER 3:

The Smell of a Man

 

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Dean and Castiel are sitting at the kitchen table, thoroughly enjoying the sandwiches that Dean didn’t let Cas taint with his “culinary knowledge”. For the most part it’s silent, with the occasional “mmm” from Cas as he eats, and the occasional laugh from Dean as he thinks about his brother trying to eat that horrible excuse for a sandwich 10 minutes ago.

Watching Sammy have to eat that sandwich was downright hilarious, but Dean has to admit that it wasn’t his only intention. There was no saying “no” to Cas when he asked if he could be the one to make Sam’s sandwich himself, so that he could “help him in his time of need, as you both have done for me.” He really does feel a bit bad about allowing that sandwich to be consumed by anyone, let alone his bed-ridden brother, because there’s no doubt in Dean’s mind that Sam is bent over a toilet in there right now, trying to keep his insides in his body. However, he’s grateful Sam took one for the team to make Cas smile. Neither of them have had an easy time lately, but Cas is extra sensitive about how useful he can be without his angel mojo.

He and Cas finish their sandwiches, Castiel being the first one to stand up to clear their plates and put them in the sink.

“Would you like me to wash the dishes this time?” Cas asks, looking eager to help out once again.

Dean smiles before standing up. “That’s okay, man. We can do the dishes later tonight. We’re just going to be making more any ways. How about we just relax for a bit?” He really could use a beer and a couple hours in front of the television. He hasn’t had a whole lot of down time recently, but now that Sam’s out for the count they could be stuck here for a while and Dean’s going to milk it for all it’s worth.

Cas looks a bit disappointed that he doesn’t get to help clean, but he nods his head in agreement anyways. “I suppose I could attempt to relax. What did you have in mind?”

Dean laughs a bit at that. Cas makes it sound like he hasn’t ever relaxed in his entire lifetime, but the more Dean thinks about it the more he supposes that could very well be possible. He’s pretty sure soldiers of Heaven don’t get free access to terrific sci-fi shows like he gets from his stolen cable.

“I was thinking we just watch some TV. That okay with you?”

Cas gives him a small smile and nods his head again. Dean leads the way to the living room, Cas following close behind, and clears Cas’ sleeping blankets from the night before off the sofa. He plops down on one end and grabs the remote, flicking the TV on. Cas sits beside him in the center of the couch, again ignoring standard personal-space-protocols. He flicks through the channels before finally settling on some history special on World War II, the only thing he thinks Cas might have recognized while he was channel surfing.

They watch in silence for a minute before Dean starts to notice a faint smell lingering in the air. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but it reminds him of the smell of wet leaves mixed with a bit of B.O. He sniffs the air again, deeper this time, and he senses the smell is coming from beside him.

He looks over at Cas and the realization suddenly hits him that Cas is absolutely _filthy_. How had he not noticed before? He guesses he was too concerned about Cas’ health when he first got here last night to notice, then too consumed in their lengthy “don’t let this friendship sink” conversation this morning when they woke up. And he was probably too distracted by the smell of fresh buns and chopping onions while making their sandwiches earlier to have ever been able to notice the unpleasant odor in the air that he can smell now.

He scans over Cas’ body with his eyes, noticing more and more the smudges of dirt on his neck, the holes in his jeans, and the flecks of leaves and dirt in his hair. The only thing that seems to be clean on him are his hands and his face, like Cas maybe tried to clean them in the sink at some point.

He leans over and sniffs Castiel’s sweater-clad shoulder, causing Cas’ eyes to snap towards him, eyebrows knitted together in a “what the hell are you doing” kind of manner. Dean instantly pulls back as the woodsy smell (yet very _manly_ smell, if Dean’s being honest), fills his nostrils.

“ _Dude_ ”, he says pointedly, waving a hand in front of his nose to try to clear the smell out. “I’m sorry for not noticing before, but you _stink_. Have you showered yet since you became human?”

Cas narrows his eyes at him, clearly not impressed with Dean’s bluntness. “And how would you suppose I would have done that while travelling across the country to get to you with no money for a hotel room?”

“Hey,” Dean says, putting his hands up in a defensive manner. “I’m not trying to insult you, I’m just asking an honest question. Don’t get your underpants in a twist over there.”

Cas’ eyes seem to narrow even more. “What underpants?” he asks, though more in confusion than anger this time.

Dean gapes at him, his mind trying to process that question before finally kick-starting at the fact that Cas is still looking at him like he sprouted an extra head. “Wha-what do you _mean_ “what underpants”? Are you telling me you aren’t wearing underpants right now?”

“Where would I have gotten these underpants from, Dean?” Cas asks, confusion still pulling his mouth into a tight frown. “I told you I got these clothes from the laundry mat, but people don’t often leave their underpants behind.”

 Dean shakes his head and shoots up from the couch. “Okay,” he says, grabbing Cas’ elbow and pulling him to stand up with him. “We are putting you in the shower, and we are doing it now.” He steers Cas towards the bathroom down the hall, ignoring the grumbly “ _Dean_ ”s that fall out of Cas’ mouth as they walk until they reach the bathroom door. “And _then_ ,” he continues, “we’re gonna’ get you some nice, clean clothes from my closet. Clothes that don’t have holes and dirt from several states smeared into them.”

Dean opens the bathroom door and steps in, leaving Cas outside the doorway and staring at the shower like it killed his first-born and he’s here to seek out revenge.

“You have to shower, Cas,” Dean says exasperatedly, rolling his eyes at his friend’s grumpy expression. He feels like he’s talking to a 3 year-old. “It’s part of being a human. Now come here, I’ll show you how to work this thing.”

He demonstrates how to turn the taps on and how to get the water to flow out of the shower head instead of the spout, then he adjusts the water to a warm temperature and leaves it running.

“This is the shampoo,” he says, picking up a bottle in the corner of the tub and showing it to Cas. “It’s for your hair only, nothing else.” Cas just stares at him, but Dean knows he’s just being stubborn and understands. He reaches for the body wash from the other corner of the tub. “And this one, is for your body. Squeeze a bit into your hands and then you rub it all over, it’ll make bubbles and stuff. Don’t use too much. Okay?”

Cas nods his head this time, and Dean firmly slaps him on the back before getting a towel out of the linen closet by the door and passing it to Cas. “When you’re finished washing your hair and body, turn the water off and dry off with the towel, okay? I’ll get some clothes ready for you before you’re done.”

Cas accepts the towel and places it on the counter. He slowly turns back to Dean and looks at him for a few seconds like he’s waiting for something.

“It was my understanding that being naked was something that humans did not like to be in front of their peers,” he says awkwardly, pointed looking between Dean and the door.

 _Right_. He supposes this is the part where Cas gets naked.

“Right, right,” he says, a little embarrassed that _Castiel_ had to point that out for him. “Sorry, just wanted to make sure you were okay before I left.” He slowly steps out the door and reaches for the doorknob . “So, err… just yell if you need anything.” Castiel gives him a small nod, and Dean leaves the room, closing the door behind him.  He wanders back into the living room and mindlessly watches the World War II special.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Castiel is standing in the bathroom, now fully naked, staring at himself in the mirror. He looks so much older, so much _dirtier,_ than when he used to have his grace to keep him cleaned up and looking the same. He lifts up his arm and sniffs his armpit, scowling down at the foul smell that’s coming from him. Dean wasn’t lying when he told him that he “stinks”. In fact, he may have actually been being _nice_ putting it that way, because there are only a couple things in this world that Cas can think of that top this smell.

He turns back towards the shower, water pouring out of the shower head, and opens the sliding glass door. He steps into the bathtub and under the spray, immediately feeling the tension from the past week draining from his muscles as he stands under the warm water. Perhaps he _could_ get used to this…

He closes his eyes and lifts his face up to the water, allowing it to run all the way down his body like a warm embrace. He can’t believe he’s never been able to experience the simple joy of standing in the shower until now. He’s not sure he wants to get out of here any time soon, if ever.

After several minutes of standing in the water, he decides he had better use the shampoo and body wash as Dean instructed him to. He looks around for one of the bottles, and spots the body wash first. He reaches for the bottle and puts a small amount on his hand. He’s not sure if it matters if he shampoos or washes first, but this one was closest.

He carefully starts to rub the liquid all over his body, starting with his stomach and chest, then over to his arms, and finally his legs. The slippery consistency of the bubbles leaves for a rather pleasant feeling as he rubs the soap into his skin; he’s continuously surprised by the little joys of being human that he’s been finding lately. He wonders if maybe small things like this are what keep the bad things from driving them all crazy.

Once his body is fully lathered, he allows the water to wash over him once more and wipes away all of the bubbles from his body. He watches as they circle the drain, the piney-smell wafting through the warm, damp air as he breathes it in. The smell reminds him of Dean and Sam, and it gives him a warm feeling in his belly similar to the one he got when he finally made it to the bunker last night.

Once the soap is all gone and he’s tested himself by smelling his armpit again, he finds the shampoo and squirts some into his hand like he did with the body wash. He’s not sure how much to use, but he assumes there can’t be too much of it, so he covers the majority of his palm before bringing it up to spread in his hair.

He uses both hands to lather the shampoo in his hair, having seen this act done enough times on television since becoming acquainted with Sam and Dean. The shampoo seems to lather much more than the body wash had, and he makes sure that all parts of his head have been covered as he thoroughly enjoys the feeling of his fingers massaging the soap into his head.

He feels the shampoo leaking down his spine, in and around his ears, and down his forehead, completely oblivious to anything but the comfort of the warm air and water surrounding him. It isn’t until the shampoo actually rolls over his eyebrows and into his open eye that he curses himself for letting his guard down for even a second.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

“OWWW!”

Dean immediately launches himself from the sofa and makes a break for the bathroom, nearly slipping and killing himself as he bumbles his way down the hallway and stops at the bathroom door.

“Cas?!” he shouts, bursting his way through the door and looking for any sign of what could make Cas scream out in pain like that. He hears a thump in the bathtub, presumably Castiel slipping and falling.

“ _OW,”_ he hears again, a low growl coming from the other side of the shower door. What the hell?

“Cas?” he calls out again, keeping his distance now that he can’t see any immediate danger. Thank god for the hot water fogging up that shower door right now.

“Dean!” he hears, panic in Cas’ voice that sounds all too familiar the panic he heard during the onion incident. “It’s my eyes again. Why does this keep _happening to me?”_

Unbelievable.

“Cas,” Dean says, cautiously moving closer to the shower. “You let shampoo get in your eyes, didn’t you?”

“It would seem so, yes,” Cas replies, his tone reminiscent of a child having just been scolded by its mother. “The bathtub is surprisingly slippery as well.”

“Okay, just stick your face under the water like we did when you had the onion juice in your eyes earlier.” He has a feeling Cas is going to learn the hard way that his eyes are the second most vulnerable part on his body. He’s hoping Cas will never find out what the first is…

He waits for Cas to rinse his eyes out, the situation suddenly becoming much more awkward now that the danger is gone and he recognizes that Cas is naked only a few feet from him. _How is this his life?_

Finally, he hears Cas’ voice bellow from the other side of the door, no more pain written in his voice. “I believe the shampoo is gone now, and I am vertical once more. Thank you, Dean. It may take me a while to learn all the things that seem to want me blind. I apologize if I worried you.”

Dean rolls his eyes, despite knowing Cas can’t actually see it. “I wasn’t _worried_ ,” he says, a blush spreading across his face, “just, you know… just don’t scream out like that okay? And watch your eyes.”

“Okay, Dean,” Cas answers, his voice slightly muffled by the sound of water running down his face.

Dean quickly turns back towards the door, not wanting to risk a rather embarrassing situation for them both if the door decides to suddenly de-fog itself, and returns to the sofa. He tries to shake the surprisingly and strangely persistent image of water running down Cas’ face from his mind as he carries on watching the television, ears on the alert just in case Cas somehow messes up showering.  _Again._

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Castiel finally finishes washing himself, and without any more soap residue getting into his eyes now that he knows better. He makes his best attempt at turning off the water, nearly scolding himself in the process before then freezing himself, a rather feminine shriek coming out of his mouth as the cold water hits his nether regions.

Eventually, he gives up trying to turn the water off and decides he’ll have Dean do it. He steps out of the shower and quickly grabs his towel that Dean gave him off of the counter. He’s never had to towel off before, but he can certainly try his best.

He wipes away the water from his body the best he can, and then rubs the towel through his hair as he’s seen Dean and Sam do in the past. His hair is sticking up at all angles once he’s finished, so he runs his fingers through his hair to try and fix it the way he’s used to. He eventually gives up and looks at the pile of soiled clothing he left on the ground, wondering whether or not he should put them back on. He knows that Dean said he would provide him with clothing, but he also knows he can’t just parade around the bunker naked.

He vaguely recalls seeing scenes on the television of humans covering their wastes with the towel after a shower, so he wraps the towel around his lower half and holds it closed tight against his hip with one of his hands. He’s never fully understood the need for covering oneself when not exposed to the elements, but he accepts it’s a social protocol that he will have to get used to if he wants to avoid making Dean and Sam uncomfortable.

Satisfied that he’s sufficiently covered, he opens the bathroom door and wanders down the long corridor to the living room. Dean is staring numbly at the television, apparently not even aware of Castiel’s presence.

He makes his way into Dean’s line of sight before speaking. “I have finished bathing. Would you like me to put on my own clothing, or should I wear something of yours?” He is asking out of politeness, but he secretly hopes that Dean will allow him to wear some of his clean clothing. He doesn’t imagine putting on the clothing he came here with would be very pleasant.

Dean turns his head to look at him when Cas speaks, but he’s embarrassed to see Dean stare at him with wide eyes, his mouth having fallen open a very small amount. He doesn’t miss Dean’s eyes raking over his exposed skin, then down to the towel he is still holding around his waist, his tongue quickly darting out of his mouth to wet his lips before his eyes come back up to meet Cas’. Perhaps he was incorrect in assuming that wearing a towel would be sufficient?

“Am I… making your uncomfortable Dean?” he asks with a frown. “I had thought this was standard attire for getting out of the shower.” He hopes this isn’t another one of those things Dean will call “inappropriate”.

“Err… no!” Dean says suddenly, a bit more loudly than he normally is. “No, yeah, you’re fine Cas. It’s just, err… has your vessel always been so… you know?” He gestures towards Cas with his hand, his face looking like he lacks the words he’s looking for.

Cas frowns even harder. “No, I don’t know… has it always been so what, Dean?”

Dean looks slightly embarrassed now, despite him having just told Cas that he was fine in the towel. “You know… have you been, working out or something…?” He sounds nonchalant, but Cas can tell by the colour of the tips of his ears that he isn’t. He simply shrugs in response and shakes his head no, not really sure what he should be saying right now.

“Well I guess I’ve just never seen you really shirtless, I don’t know,” Dean says, standing up from the couch and turning the TV off. “Any ways, you look good _now_ , but I guess that’s just another thing to add to our list. Unfortunately, us humans have to work to keep our body in that nice of a condition.” He gestures to Cas’ torso as he talks. “We’ll have to get you into some regular workout routines soon.”

Cas looks back down at his body to see what Dean is talking about. “You think I have a nice body?” he asks hesitantly.

“Well, err…” Dean starts, looking embarrassed again. Cas looks back up at him, and is surprised to see that he’s blushing now. “It’s nice for a dude,  you know. All muscly and stuff. I’m surprised you were hiding that under that trench coat all these years, actually.”

Cas looks back down at himself and gently traces the faint outlines around his muscles, and he supposes he has to agree. He hadn’t really noticed what his vessel looked like underneath its clothing, but now that he looks he has to assume Jimmy must have worked hard to keep his body in this condition. He feels like he owes it to Jimmy’s memory to keep it in healthy form.

And if he’s being honest with himself, it makes him feel surprisingly good to see that Dean thinks he has a nice body. It’s a bit vain of him, sure, but Dean doesn’t often compliment him on things. If something as simple as the way his body looks is enough to get that, then he is only further inclined to keep his body in good shape.

“Alright,” he nods, looking back up at Dean. “I will join you in these so called workout routines.”

“Good,” Dean says loudly again, clapping his hands together once and heading towards the hallway. “Well, let’s go pick you out something from the Winchester Wardrobe, shall we?”

Cas nods and follows Dean down the hallway, careful to keep his towel wrapped tightly around him.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Dean is riffling through what has become his closet, Cas standing behind him near the door.

In a towel. _Just_ a towel.

It caught Dean off guard to see Cas enter the living room essentially _naked_ , but he can’t really blame the guy for something that he and Sam have both done very freely, even around Cas. It was definitely Dean that made it seem weird, not Cas.

For whatever reason that Dean doesn’t want to dwell on right now, he couldn’t help but notice how fit Cas’ body was. Not to mention the way the water droplets were sliding down his torso, and the way his hair was sticking up in a slightly muffled way. It was just… different, to see Cas that way.

Then he went and full on admitted that Cas had a nice body. He hoped to all the gods he’s ever iced that Cas wouldn’t ever bring that up in front of anyone else, because dudes generally did not compliment other dudes on their bodies unless they wanted it to be known that they _noticed_ other dudes’ bodies. It was probably more embarrassing than having to eat a sandwich that Cas made him.

He tries not to think about it too hard and focuses on his task. He’s pulled out a few shirts already, grabbing random clothing so that Cas has a choice in what he wears. He reaches for a final t-shirt before turning back towards Cas’ direction and laying the clothing out on his rather large bed. Cas is watching his every movement, as he often does.

“So,” Dean starts, gesturing towards the spread of clothing he’s laid out on his bed. “What catches your eye?”

Cas comes and stands beside him, carefully considering all the shirts like he’s judging a high school science project. He seems to be teetering between one of Dean’s favourite band shirts and a blue plaid button –up. He eventually reaches for both of them and holds them up to Dean.

“Which do you prefer? I can’t decide.”

Dean looks at the t-shirt with the AC/DC logo in large print across the chest, and tries to picture what it would look like on Cas. It’s a lot tighter than what Cas is used to, but everyone loves a good, comfy t-shirt. Then he looks at the blue-button down, and he can’t help but think about how it would bring out the colour of Cas’ eyes. And on _that_ note, he’s just going to keep his opinions to himself, because _really?_ Since when does he even notice his friends’ eye colours?

“How about you wear one today and the other tomorrow?” he finally says, not wanting to put more thought than necessary into imagining what his friend would look like dressed in different outfits. This was definitely pushing the limits of normal friend behaviour. He supposes Cas and him have never really had a normal friendship, though.

Cas nods and stares between the two shirts again. “Alright,” he says, throwing the blue plaid shirt back on the bed and keeping the t-shirt in his hand. “I will wear this one today, and the other one tomorrow.”

Dean goes to back to his closet and picks out a pair of dark jeans, then brings them back over to Cas.

“You can wear these pants, they look good with anything” he says, placing the items in Cas’ arms. It’s then that he realizes that Cas’ ensemble is missing a crucial piece.

“Err, Cas...?” he asks slowly, embarrassment flushing through him before he even gets his question out. “What are the chances you have a spare pair of underpants that you brought with you?”

Cas’ eyebrows furrow together at that. “I already told you, Dean. I did not even come here with one pair of underpants, let alone a spare pair.”

“ _Great,_ ” says Dean sarcastically. He thought helping his friend pick out his outfit for the day was weird, but now he was going to have to _share his friggen’ underwear with him_. Christ.

He walks over to his dresser and pulls out the top drawer, scanning his underwear collection for something he’s willing to give up forever. There’s no way in hell he’ll ever be able to accept back a pair of underpants knowing that someone else has worn them. They’re as good as gone.

He wonders if he should give Cas some regular boxer shorts or some boxer briefs. The thought provokes some rather racy images in his mind comparing Cas in briefs to shorts, and he desperately tries to push them away. What is wrong with him today?

He tries to think of it in a more practical way rather than what he thinks Cas would look better in. He supposes he has more than enough briefs, and he doesn’t really want to give up any of his Star Trek or Ghostbuster themed boxer shorts. He eventually settles on a pair of plain black boxer briefs, and hands them to Cas.

“Here,” he says, placing them on top of the rest of the clothes in Cas’ arms. “You’re gonna’ need these too. And you can, err, just keep em’ after. Okay?”

Cas nods his head and gives Dean a grateful smile. “Thank you, Dean. I appreciate the gift.”

Dean has to roll his eyes at that, because it’s hardly him giving Cas a gift. Dean would rather not have to give up a perfectly good pair of underpants, but he’s not going to wear them after Cas. He lets it slide though.

“No problem,” he says sarcastically. “You can change in here.” He walks to the door and opens it to leave.

“Just holler if you need anything,” he says, slowly backing out of the door and closing it behind him. Then, as an afterthought, he opens it again and says “actually, don’t. You’re gonna’ have to figure this one out on your own.” Cas gives him a weird look at that, but nods his head anyway.

Dean nods his head back at him and exits the room again, making sure the door is all the way shut. The last thing he needs is Cas needing him to help him into his black briefs. There’s only so much one man can take, and now Dean already has images of scantily clad Castiels stuck in his brain. They’re surprisingly persistent, these weird, inappropriate thoughts about his best friend.

He tries to shake them away and decides he’ll go check how Sammy’s doing while Cas is trying to figure out his clothes. He walks further down the hallway, past the bathroom, to get to Sam’s door. On his way over, however, he hears the sound of water running, and he walks back from where he came to find the bathroom door wide open, the shower still going, and shampoo suds all over the shower wall.

“God _dammit_ , Cas.”

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are appreciated, you guys are so fantastic and nice :)
> 
> -ArticulateFiction


	4. The Washing Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel learns how to do the laundry, and Dean takes him shopping for some new clothes.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

 

CHAPTER 4:

The Washing Machine

 

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Dean and Cas are in the lower part of the bunker, and they’re about to do Cas’ first load of laundry.

Since Dean had to lend Cas his own clothes because Cas only brought one outfit (that AC/DC shirt really, _really_ looks a lot better on Cas than it ever did on himself, by the way), he thinks it’s as good a time as ever to show Cas how to do the laundry. They’re going to have to go shopping for him later, and he’ll need to know how to wash his own clothes. Because Dean is _not_ some house wife who cleans up after the other men in the house, despite the fact that he’s been doing exactly that since Sam’s incident and Cas returning to the bunker as a human.

They’re standing in front of the highly out-dated washing machine that some of the later Men of Letters members must have put in. Dean had thought it odd to see Cas wearing someone else’s hoodie when he showed up at the bunker last night, but it’s even stranger to see Cas wearing his own clothing. He has to admit though, it’s sort of a _good_ kind of strange…

“Alright,” he says, getting right to it. He gestures to the washing machine and all its non-existent glory. “Behold, one of man’s greatest inventions! The washing machine!” He grins back at Cas, hoping to get him excited about what he knows everyone agrees is an awful chore.

Sadly, his enthusiasm does not seem to trick Cas at all.

“Allow me to guess what the washing machine does,” he replies, his face completely devoid of emotion. “Does it _wash_ things, Dean?”

Jesus. The _attitude_ on this man. Dean has nobody to blame but himself for that, though…

“Hah-hah”, he says sarcastically as he rolls his eyes, the fake enthusiasm long forgotten. “Way to go, Einstein.” He picks up the basket of laundry off the floor that is full of Cas’ week-old clothing and a few of Dean’s things that need done any ways, and puts it on the table beside the washing machine.

“Now, the first thing we do is sort the laundry by colour.” He quickly rifles through the laundry in the basket, only to find that all of the clothing is dark any ways. “Well, _usually_ we do. We sort it by darks, lights and whites. But all of this is dark any ways so we’ll put it all in one load.” He puts the basket back on the table and grabs the bottle of laundry detergent.

Castiel watches him carefully as he unscrews the cap, one eyebrow drawn upwards in a classic “Castiel is confused” face. “Why must we sort it by colour?”

“Because sometimes the colours can bleed out in the wash. We don’t want colour getting in with our white clothing,” he explains, although the look on Cas’ face tells him that he hasn’t explained it well. “Just… trust me. Okay?” Cas nods and Dean refocuses his attention back to the laundry.

“Now we put the detergent in so that it cleans the clothes. You gotta’ make sure you do this step first, otherwise it could stain and ruin the clothes if you put it in last.” He has learnt that lesson from experience.

He pours the proper amount into the cap, dumps it into the washing machine and starts the water.

“The water temperature varies depending on the clothes, but err, just use cold for now… okay? Hot water can shrink stuff and I don’t expect you to know right away what gets shrunk and what doesn’t.”

Cas nods again, but he looks conflicted. “But doesn’t hot water clean things better…?”

“Yeah, maybe. But that’s not gonna’ matter if your clothes get shrunk to the size of a doll’s.”

Dean reaches for the basket again and starts pulling things out, one by one, and places them into the filling machine. Cas watches in silence, and Dean hopes that it’s because he’s memorizing everything Dean does. Once the washer is full, he closes the lid and the machine automatically starts spinning the clothing. Cas narrows his eyes at it but doesn’t ask any more questions.

“See?” Dean asks, smiling up at Cas and wiping his hands clean of an imaginary filth. “Easy as pie!”

Cas gives him a small smile in return, but he doesn’t look very convinced.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Castiel is wrapped in a warm blanket and sitting alone in front of the TV, waiting for Dean to come back from the store. Dean had tried to drag him along with him, just for a simple jug of milk and some more buns, but Castiel had eventually convinced him that he was okay enough to stay at home alone for half an hour.

He’s watching an interesting (and quite horrifying) television show about bear attacks, and he’s essentially decided to never anger any bears during his time on Earth if he can help it. After 10 minutes of watching re-enacted bear maulings, he decides to get a glass of juice from the fridge.

He gets up from the couch and goes into the kitchen, still clutching the blanket tightly around his shoulders, then checks the fridge for something to drink. He finds a carton of orange juice and a carton of prune juice, but he vaguely recalls Dean saying something about the prune juice being for “Grandma Hairy-Legs” and opts to not drink Sam’s juice on him.

He takes out the orange juice and grabs a glass from the cupboard. He tries to pour the juice into the glass, but his movement is restricted by the blanket he still has wrapped around him and he somehow manages to knock the glass and the carton both down, spilling orange juice all over the counter and onto his blanket.

He lets out a grunt of frustration before closing his eyes and breathing in deeply, trying to subdue his anger. He wishes more than anything that he could will away the juice using the power of Heaven, but he has come to accept that he cannot. Instead, he tries to find something to clean the juice up with.

He checks around the kitchen but can’t find anything of use. He looks down at the stained blanket he still has wrapped around him, and it’s then that he remembers the washing machine. He had only just learnt how to use it an hour ago, but he’s pretty certain he can figure it out.

He removes the blanket and decides to use it to mop up the rest of the juice since he already has to wash it. He wipes the juice off the floor, and then moves to the counter to do the same. He’s carefully dabbing the mess when he notices that the juice also managed to get on one of the old cook books on the counter. He carefully picks up the book and quickly flips through the pages, but it’s soaked in orange juice and there’s no way he can leave it this way.

He gently picks up the sopping wet blanket and the cook book and carries them both downstairs to the designated laundry room. He drops them both on the floor and reaches for the laundry detergent, unscrewing the cap as carefully as he can so not to spill something else.

He fills the cap as high as it will go and dumps it into the machine, then takes a cursory glance at the stained blanket and cookbook and decides to add a second cap. Just in case.

He turns the water to cold, but at the last minute decides that it really should be set to hot. This is an especially messy mess, and he wants to be able to clean it the best that he can. Surely a book and blanket aren’t going to shrink just from getting hot water on them?

He watches as the machine slowly fills up with hot water, then bends down and scoops up the pile of blanket and wet paper book and throws it all into the machine. He closes the lid and smiles to himself for a job well done as the machine starts to whir and buzz, then makes his way back up to the television to continue watching his angry bear program.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

When Dean gets home from the store, he’s not surprised to find Castiel sitting in the exact same spot in front of the television as when he left a little over half an hour ago. He wanders into the kitchen to put away the things he bought, but he stops halfway across the room to sniff the air.

What the hell is that smell? It smells kind of… citrusy?

He shrugs his shoulders and carries on to the fridge to deposit his items, then goes to the counter to put the buns in the bread box. Unfortunately, he makes the mistake of leaning against the counter with one hand before he realizes the entire counter is absolutely covered in stickiness.

“What the…” he peels his hand off of the counter and tries to back away a step or two, only to find that his boots are now stuck to the floor just like his hand was to the counter.

“CAS!” he shouts, trying to pull his boots off of the floor. “What did you do in here?”

Within a matter of seconds, Cas is standing at the entranceway and giving Dean his best puppy-eyes.

“I didn’t mean to,” Cas says quietly, looking absolutely devastated. Dean sighs inwardly, because how can he possible be expected to get angry when _that_ face is looking back at him?

“Look,” he says, finally tearing his feet away from the sticky mess on the floor, “it’s fine, Cas. I just want to know what happened.” He tries to give Cas a reassuring look as he waits for his reply.

Cas finally brings his eyes up off of the ground and looks at Dean, caving in at the look Dean is giving him. “I may have… had an _incident_ …” he says ominously. Dean just stares at him until he takes the hint and clarifies. “With the orange juice. And it may have spilt. On the floor. And the counter. And my blanket. And a cookbook…”

Dean looks back down at the sticky mess and, _yep_ , that would definitely be orange juice.

“And we may not have any orange juice left…” Cas adds, his tone still careful like he’s waiting for Dean to punch him in the face over a lousy spilt carton of orange juice.

Dean looks back up at Cas and he can’t help the small huff of laughter that escapes his mouth. He looks like a friggen’ child who just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Look, man, it’s fine. Just… do you think maybe you can clean it up next time?” He’s trying to remember if they have anything around that could make cleaning up sticky juice any easier, but he may have to make another trip to the store. And he may _definitely_ have to bring Cas with him this time.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I was able to salvage the blanket and the cook book,” Cas says, giving Dean a hopeful look, like he’s seeking out Dean’s approval.

Before Dean can even reply, a loud noise rips through the kitchen, like metal banging and shaking against something else. He immediately reaches for the gun in the back of his waistband and goes into defense-mode.

“Stay here,” he instructs Cas, holding his hand up and slowly making his way towards the noise, gun at the ready in front of him.

He follows the noise to the stairs and realizes that the noise is coming from the lower floor. It’s getting louder and it sounds like some sort of metal animal running around on the concrete floor. He slowly makes his way down the stairs, not really sure what to expect but ready to shoot anything that jumps out at him.

He follows the noise to the laundry room, and his eyes instantly widen at what he sees. There’s their washing machine, violently shaking and dancing around the floor, only being restrained by the cord that it’s plugged into the electrical socket with. Huge amounts of laundry soap are pouring out of the top of it, and there’s about 3 inches of water covering the concrete floor, and maybe Dean _is_ going to have to punch Cas in the face over a lousy spilt carton of orange juice.

What the _fuck_.

“CAS!” he yells, waiting for the tell-tale thump of Cas’ feet running down the stairs.

Sure enough, Cas is standing beside him within 10 seconds, a random pipe in his hands and ready to fight off whatever it is that has Dean shouting for him. He frowns when he sees that Dean doesn’t appear to be in any danger, then quickly takes in the scene in the laundry room. His mouth falls open a bit as he looks at the washing machine, and he stutters for an answer.

“It… it isn’t supposed to do that, is it?” he asks, just barely audible over the loud noises coming from the machine.

Dean just stares at him, completely at a loss for words. _Half an hour._ That’s all he was gone for. _30 fucking minutes._

He lets out a heavy sigh and tiptoes his way through the water to get to the cord, then unplugs the machine. The machine stops moving and soap stops pouring out, so Dean carefully makes his way over to it and opens the lid.

“Jesus fucking _Christ”_ he breathes out, looking at the inside of the machine. He can feel Cas come up behind him to see what he’s done.

Dean pulls the blanket out of the machine, still soaked and covered in bubbles, but that’s not what the issue is. The issue is the huge, 500-page cookbook that Cas has apparently thrown in with the laundry. There are huge, wet chunks of paper all over the blanket and inside the machine, and what’s left of the book is jammed in and around the turning mechanism.

“Is it… because I used the hot water?” Cas asks timidly, turning that friggen’ sad-eyed look on him again.

He can’t help himself. He can feel his shoulders start to shake as he tries to hold his laughter back and covers his mouth with his hand, but really, there’s not much else he could be doing in this situation. He can’t hold it back for long, and a huge, thunderous laugh rips out of his throat as he bends over and giggles into his elbow as he leans against the soapy machine.

He laughs and laughs and laughs, and when he feels like he can’t laugh any more he looks up at Cas’ face and, wouldn’t you know it, he _can_ laugh some more. And so he does. Because Cas is staring at him like he’s finally reached the brink of insanity and is now spiraling down into the deep, dark pit of straight-jackets and regularly scheduled medication.

“Why are you laughing?” Cas finally asks, sounding way more concerned about Dean’s laughter than the mess he’s made of their basement. And really, if being concerned about hearing Dean laugh doesn’t put into perspective how shitty their lives really are, nothing will.

He pulls himself back up straight and looks at Cas again, smile still cracking his face in two. “You put the cookbook in the washing machine,” he says, as if that should explain everything.

Cas narrows his eyes at him in confusion. “Yes… it needed to be washed.”

Another fit of laughter causes Dean to double over, because Cas put something that needed washed in the washing machine, and how can he possibly argue with that logic?

“Oh god,” he breathes out between another fit of giggles. “Never change, Cas,” he says, slapping Cas once on the back and heading back for the stairs. “Come on, we’re gonna’ get you some new threads.” He smiles and laughs all the out the bunker and into the impala.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Castiel and Dean are making their way through the closest thing this city has to a mall, searching for some sort of appropriate clothing vendor. Or rather, what _Dean_ considers to be appropriate, because Cas has seen plenty of acceptable-looking clothing stores that he has suggested. Dean has made it very clear, though, that he is not going to pay for “that baggy-pants, high-school shit”. So their search continues.

He’s holding is tongue, though. He can’t even begin to describe how relieved he is that Dean didn’t “ice him”, as Sam and Dean would say, over the washing machine mishap. It really was an honest mistake. And now he’s even being treated to a brand new wardrobe, so he’s certainly not going to push his luck.

Dean has even told him that he can pick out his own clothing (within reason, and no baggy-pants, apparently), which Castiel is inexplicably excited for. As much as his old attire had become something he had grown very fond of, and how much he oddly enjoys sharing clothes with Dean, he still has never had the chance to choose out his own possessions before.

He supposes that for other humans, this is a regular thing. But for Cas, this is his first time being able to freely choose something for himself. He’s going to make the most of it.

Dean suddenly stops walking and looks up at a store that appears to cater more to the male gender. He looks over at Cas and nods towards it.

“Wanna’ try in here? This stuff seems to be pretty normal”.

Cas takes in the clothing in the windows and the mannequins, and he can’t help but notice that there is an awful lot of plaid clothing set up. He suspects this is why Dean is now walking in without even waiting to see what Cas’ answer would be.

He rolls his eyes and follows Dean into the store, taking in all the choices he has. It’s equal parts overwhelming and liberating to know he has so much to choose from.

A young woman, Castiel would estimate to be in her 20s, spots them from her place behind the cash register and instantly garners an eager expression. She smiles big at them and bounces around to the front of the counter, quickly making her way over to them.

“Hi there!” she says enthusiastically, not stopping until she’s standing a foot in front of them. Dean eyes her suspiciously, and Cas has to admit she seems far more upbeat than other humans he has seen working in her position.

“Can I help you gentlemen find anything today?” She smiles brightly between them, and she looks genuinely happy to see them. Cas looks around the otherwise empty store, and it occurs to him that she must be happy to see _any one_.

“Yes,” he says, at the same time that Dean says “No, I think we’re fine on our own thanks.” They both snap their heads in the other’s direction and look at each other with confusion, while the young woman looks much more bewildered than either of them.

“Err,” she says, evidently trying to decide who it is that she should listen to.

Dean gives Cas a look that says _What the hell are you doing?_ , but Cas decides he’d appreciate any outside help that he can get for this matter. He has seen what the Winchesters wear, and he really has no interest in wearing plaid day in and day out.

“Yes,” he says again, pointedly ignoring Dean’s silent protest. “I am in need of an entirely new wardrobe. Everything I have has been destroyed by an unnamed peril, and the only clothing I have is what you see me wearing right now.”

The woman cocks an eyebrow at that, but she nods her head and looks him up and down, while Dean snorts sarcastically from beside him.

“ _Actually_ ,” he says bitterly, “he’s technically wearing _my_ clothes right now.”

The saleswoman’s mouth makes an “oh” shape and she looks like someone who just figured out a key piece of information. Then she grins back at them.

“Awe!” she says in a sickeningly sweet voice. “You share clothes? That is absolutely _adorable_! I wish I had someone I could share my clothes with.”

Dean frowns and opens his mouth to rebut, only to be cut off by the saleswoman’s sing-song voice. “So what are we talking here? Shoes? Shirts? Pants? _Underpants…?_ ” Castiel doesn’t miss the way her eyes trail over him again, this time in more of a predatory way.

“Shoes, shirts and pants will be _fine_ ,” Dean says from beside him, narrowing his eyes at the woman.

The woman doesn’t appear to notice the sudden disdain in Dean’s voice as she beams back at them. “Great! Finally, something to do around here. Wait right here, I’m going to go pick out a few things for you to try on.” She turns on her heel and makes way for the clothing racks in the back before either of them can say another word.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

The bench outside of the change rooms that Dean is sitting on is surprisingly comfortable, and he imagines it was put there for guys who have to wait 10 minutes for their ex-angel to try one friggen’ outfit on. Seriously, it’s been _forever_ and Cas hasn’t come out yet.

The saleswoman, _Linda_ her name is, said something about wanting to make sure what size Castiel is first. She brought him one pair of pants and a couple of different shirts before walking away and going to search for more outfits for him to try on once he’s done.

Dean doesn’t like her. She clearly thinks that Dean and Cas are… _together…_ , which irritates Dean to no end, because can’t a guy just be taking his male friend out shopping for a new wardrobe without it being romantic? And on top of that, she then totally checked Cas out right in front of him even after deciding that Dean and Cas were together. Dean could see it in her eyes. She can argue she was sizing him up to pick out a size for him, but that is some _bullshit_.

As far as Dean is concerned, it’s totally not cool to check out other people’s boyfriends right in front of them. Even Dean wouldn’t check out a girl in the middle of a conversation with her and her _friggen’_ boyfriend. It’s just rude.

It takes him a minute to realize he’s angry about her checking out his totally-not-boyfriend though, and he shakes his mind free of those thoughts. They’re not _actually_ together, so his annoyance is not really justifiable. He zones back into the real world and glares at the change room door in front of him, willing Cas to come out with his mind. It doesn’t work.

“Cas!” he shouts from his slouched position on the bench, “this isn’t rocket science here, man. What are you _doing_ in there?”

Cas doesn’t reply, but the door finally unlocks and swings open slowly as he steps out. He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans that the saleswoman picked out for him, and she must be _really_ good at her job to know exactly what size and fit would be best for him just by looking at him, because the pants fit him perfectly. He’s also wearing a plain, tight, grey t-shirt with a small v-neck to it, and he looks really, _really_ stylish. And not in a douchey way, but in a “simple yet elegant” way.

Cas gives him a nervous look, like he’s being scrutinized, and Dean realizes Cas is waiting for his opinion. He snaps out of it and gives him a big smile.

“There you go! Look at that, some clothes that actually fit!” Castiel gives him a small, shy smile and looks down at himself.

“You feel this is adequate?” he asks, looking at himself in the full-length mirror on the wall.

Something inside of Dean clicks at that question. This shouldn’t be about what Dean likes, this should be about what _Cas_ likes. Does Cas really think he needs to wear what Dean wants him to?

“Well, err, do _you_ like it?” Cas turns his head back to Dean and he looks surprised at the question.

“Yes,” he answers, smiling and turning his head back towards the mirror. “I do like it.”

“Well then that’s all that matters, Cas.” Cas looks back at him and gives him another small smile and nods his head, and Dean returns the smile.

“I do like it, though,” he finally answers, now that he knows what Cas thinks about it. “It looks good.”

“Good?!” Linda’s loud voice exclaims from behind them. She dumps a pile of clothing onto the empty seat on the bench beside Dean and comes closer to Castiel. “This looks _amazing_. Seriously, you could be a model if you wanted to.”

She’s roaming her eyes all over Castiel again, and Dean has to remind himself again that _Cas is not really his boyfriend_ , but he just can’t get over the fact that she’s doing this right in front of him.

“I mean really,” she says, grabbing Castiel by the shoulders and turning him so his back is facing Dean. “Look at this _butt.”_ She’s looking at Dean now, evidently waiting for Dean to look at his butt. Dean’s eyes widen and he can see Cas’ eyebrows draw together in the mirror.  

“My butt…?” Cas asks, his head turning over his own shoulder to try and look down at his own backside. “Is it different from other butts?” He looks up at Dean, his eyes filled with concern that he’s somehow different than everyone else.

“Err,” Dean starts. What the fuck. He is not going to sit here and check out Cas’ butt just to assure him that he has a nice butt.

“Oh yeah,” Linda answers for him from beside Cas, turning him back around to face them again. “Your butt is out of this world, trust me.” She gives Castiel a wink and starts to wander off just as quickly as she came. “I’m going to go get the underpants now, you have him try on all that, okay?”

Dean’s eyes are still as wide as saucers as she turns around the corner. He looks back at Cas and finds him looking all insecure again, and he really hates to see his friend looking that way.

“Out of this world?” he asks, his voice laced with perplexity and a hint of what Dean thinks is sadness.

Dean sighs before he answers. “It doesn’t mean… she means that as a _good_ thing, Cas. Like, not out of this world because you don’t fit in but out of this world because it’s, err, you know…” Cas just stares at him. _God dammit._ “Look, all she’s saying is you have a nice butt. Okay? People like nice butts. Nice butts are attractive.” Cas eyes widen a little at that, but he doesn’t look sad anymore so as far as Dean’s concerned that’s the end of this fucking conversation.

“Here, try all this on,” he says, picking up the bundle of clothing and dropping them into Cas’ outstretched arms. “The faster you get this stuff on the faster we can get out of here.”

Before Cas can turn back into the change room, Linda jumps from around the corner with several different underpants in hand. “I don’t know what your preference is, so I brought you boxer shorts, boxer briefs, and some classic tighty-whiteys.” She lays them all on top of Cas’ small mountain of clothing in his arms and shoos him back into the change room.

The door closes and Linda sits down in the once-again empty seat beside Dean, and then grins at Dean before excitedly looking back at the change room door, waiting for Cas to come out like she’s waiting for her new favourite television show.

_Not really your boyfriend, he’s not really your boyfriend, this does not fucking bother you…_

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Castiel is very pleased with the clothing he picked out for himself. He’s sitting in the passenger seat of the impala now, and he’s been smiling to himself since they left the mall.

“You certainly seem happy,” Dean says from beside him. Cas turns his head towards him and sees that Dean is smiling back at him.

“Thank you for buying my clothing,” he answers. He is looking forward to being able to bring them back home to the bunker and put them away in his very own closet.

“Any time,” Dean replies, turning his attention back to the road. He shakes his head then and says “that Linda lady though, am I right?” He’s still smiling, but Cas can tell that he found her very irritating for some reason unknown to Castiel.

“I found her to be very helpful,” he offers up. He doesn’t really understand what it is about her that’s irking Dean.

“Pfffft”, Dean spits out. “You’re only saying that because she liked your butt.”

“No,” Cas says playfully. “I’m saying it because she didn’t try to pick out all plaid for me.”

Dean scoffs at that. “What? I didn’t pick out any plaid for you!”

“No, but you would have,” Cas answers, smile growing wider on his face.

Dean turns back to him and narrows his eyes, but there’s no actual annoyance behind the look, just the same sort of playful mischief behind Cas’. He doesn’t hold the glare for long though and snorts out a small laugh as he turns his head back in front of him.

“I can’t believe you didn’t get one single plaid shirt, though,” he says. “It’s like… like a Winchester _tradition_.”

Cas rummages through the bag of clothes at his feet, then pulls out a blue plaid shirt not unlike the one Dean offered for him to wear this morning out of his own closet.

“Actually,” he says, smiling big at Dean, “I _did_ get one.” Dean’s eyebrows knit together and he turns to see the shirt Castiel is holding up, and then grins back at him in a way that makes having to actually wear this thing at some point worth it to Castiel.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had to throw in the shopping trip in here, it’s been stuck in my mind for ages!
> 
> Reviews are appreciated, see you guys soon :)
> 
> -ArticulateFiction


	5. The Bad Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel picks out a room at the bunker, but his first night doesn't exactly go as he'd expect it to.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

 

CHAPTER 5:

The Bad Dream

 

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

After a rather quick and painless dinner and cleaning of the dishes, Dean decides Cas should pick a room in the bunker that he wants to stay in for his first night of many. He really wants Cas to feel welcome and like he has a permanent spot with the Winchesters now that he has no one else.

“Come take a look,” he tells Cas, walking down the long hallway toward where all the spare rooms are. “You can have whatever unoccupied one you want.”

Cas is practically buzzing behind him, and Dean can tell that he’s just as excited to be picking out a room here as Dean was. He supposes that Cas has never really had his own space before, much like himself. It’s definitely a good feeling to know that there’s somewhere you can be to get away from everything and everyone.

He stops at the first room in the hallway and opens it up, allowing Cas to step inside and take a look around. He takes all of 2 seconds to look around, then shakes his head and turns back to Dean in the doorway.

“I think this one is too big. The only possessions I have are the clothes you purchased for me earlier. Is there a smaller one?”

Dean shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t really know, let’s go check?”

Cas smiles and nods his head, then follows Dean out into the hallway. They look at every room they come across, but Cas keeps saying that he would like to see all the rooms so that he can make an informed choice.

They eventually reach the end of the hallway where the last 2 rooms are. One of them is Dean’s, which Castiel already knows, and the other is directly across from Dean’s room and is the final spare room that they haven’t already checked. They open the door and enter the room and find that it is almost exactly the same as all the other rooms they’ve seen. The only difference between them has been slight differences in size, lighting and shape.

Castiel steps further inside and looks around the room, just like he’s done for all the others, but this time he smiles and nods his head up and down.

“I believe I like this one the best,” he says happily, then turns to look at Dean who is still standing in the doorway.

“Yeah? Why this one?” Dean can’t really see a difference in this room compared to the others. He swears he sees Cas’ eyes quickly dart to something over Dean’s shoulder and then back to his face before he answers him, but he might have been imagining it.

“I have my reasons,” Cas replies, not willing to go into detail, apparently. Dean’s curious, but he shrugs his shoulders and smiles at him any ways.

“Alright then,” he responds excitedly. “Let’s get you some blankets and move you in to your new room!”

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

The two men spend about 20 minutes putting on new blankets and sheets for Castiel, then they fill up his closet with all the clothes they purchased earlier. The room is sparsely furnished with nothing but a queen-sized bed, a single bedside table, and a small desk in the corner with a matching chair, but Castiel is looking forward to slowly adding his own items to the bedroom as he accumulates them.

Once they’re finished, they stand in the middle of the room to look around at their job well done, then look at each and smile. They linger for a moment before Dean slaps Cas once on the back and makes his way to the door.

“Well, it’s getting late, man. I think I’m gonna’ turn in for the night. You okay on your own?” Dean asks as he waits in the doorway.

“I believe so, yes,” Cas replies, giving him a warm smile in return. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt more at home than he does here in his small and empty bedroom. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean smiles back and reaches for the door. “Night, Cas,” he says quietly as he closes the door behind himself.

Cas stands there and smiles at the now closed door, then looks around at his room again. He wanders over to the closet and finds the pyjama pants that Dean bought for him earlier. He sheds his other clothing and leaves them on a heap on the floor, then pulls the pyjama pants on.

He goes and brushes his teeth in the bathroom down the hall from his room, then quietly tiptoes back to his bedroom and gets in under the sheets. He closes his eyes and grins like an idiot as he finally falls asleep in _his_ bed.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

It’s about three hours after he’s fallen asleep that he’s suddenly snapping up in his bed, his eyes wide like saucers and his forehead damp with sweat. His breathing is heavy and fast, almost like he’s been running, as the remnants of a truly horrible dream disappear from his mind. Dark shadows, piercing knives, falling stars, ear-splitting screams of pain, all of it fading away into a melting pot of confusion in his brain.

It takes him a minute to calm down, but he can’t for the life of him remember what it was that’s gotten him so worked up. Is it common for one to forget their dreams within a matter of seconds of waking? He has no idea. All he knows is that whatever it was had been awful, and the thought of going back to sleep right now is making him very anxious.

He decides that perhaps he’s had enough sleep for tonight and slinks out of bed, catching the time on the clock stating that it’s almost 3 in the morning. He sighs heavily and slowly creaks open his bedroom door, then tiptoes down the hallway as not to wake Sam and Dean.

He decides some television and a late night snack should be enough to keep his mind off of how tired he feels. He rummages around through the cupboards and the fridge before settling on a container of raspberries. He’s grown especially of fond of berries lately.

He takes his raspberries into the living room then slumps down on the sofa, grabbing the blanket off the back of it and spreading it around his body the best he can. Then he flicks on the television and finds the animal specialty channel that he spent a few hours watching yesterday. He enjoys learning about all of Earth’s creatures, not just humans. He settles into the blanket and slowly eats his raspberries, very grateful for the distraction of this show revolving around an alligator conservation park somewhere in Florida.

He watches in silence for about ten minutes before he starts to hear quiet, socked footsteps coming towards him from down the hall. He turns his head towards the entrance to the living room and bites his lip in guilty anticipation, waiting to see which of the Winchesters he has woken up.

He can’t say he’s surprised when Dean pokes his head into the room, cocking an eyebrow at Cas as a silent question.

“I believe I had a nightmare,” he says quietly in explanation. “I apologize if the television was too loud.”

Dean’s face seems to soften and he panders over to the other side of Castiel, plopping down on the sofa beside him.

“Nah,” he says, waving his hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it. Happens to me all the time. And I wasn’t asleep any ways, so you’re not bothering me.” Cas gives him a small apologetic smile anyways and returns his attention to the television, watching as two men try to “wrestle” with an alligator that found its way into a civilian’s back yard.

“So, err,” Dean says, sounding about as awkward as he always sounds when he wants to talk about something personal, “…what was the nightmare about?”

Cas turns his attention back to Dean and tries to remember once more what it is that he had been dreaming of. “I don’t think I can remember,” he says slowly, chewing on his lip again as he tries to think. His eyes refocus on Dean’s concerned ones before asking “Is that normal? For humans to just …forget their dreams?”

Dean gives him a sad smile in return and shrugs his shoulders. “Sometimes. In fact, you may want to count yourself lucky. Some of us can never forget.” It’s Dean’s turn to turn towards the television now, and Cas can’t help but imagine all the things that Dean could be having nightmares about, like a never-ending supply of coal to fuel the scorching fire within his mind.

“How do you deal with it?” he asks Dean quietly, hoping not to make him any more uncomfortable than he already visibly is.

Dean turns back to him, smile gone now. “Not well,” he answers sadly, and it’s one of those rare times where Dean lays all his emotions out on his face like an open buffet. Cas nods his head in understanding, because how could anyone deal with those kind of dreams?

“But, I find that late night television certainly helps keep my mind off of things. The raspberries are a unique touch, though,” he says, his typical talent of pushing away difficult feelings shining through as he reaches for the carton of raspberries on Cas’ lap and pops a couple into his mouth.

They watch for a few more minutes, the tension from both of their dreams quietly slipping out of the room as they allow themselves to be caught up in the show. Dean starts to shift in his spot, then eventually brings his legs up onto the sofa with the rest of him and hugs his knees. Castiel can see the tell-tale signs of a body trying to keep itself warm without a word having to be said. It’s something he became used to himself the days before he made his way back to the bunker.

He wordlessly un-tucks the blanket from the side of him closest to Dean and throws the blanket over Dean’s shivering body. Dean peers at him from the side of his eye and looks for a second like he might try to protest, but he slowly unwraps his arms from around his legs and adjusts the blanket so that it’s properly tucked in on the other side of him, just like Castiel.

Dean’s body warms up within a matter of minutes, and without the blanket between them Castiel can feel his body emanate heat from beside him like a furnace. It’s much more comfortable than the blanket on its own, and he barely notices his body subconsciously lean closer towards Dean as the television show carries on. Neither does Dean, apparently, because by the time Castiel realizes that they’re almost touching, Dean has shifted towards him just as much, if not more.

They carry on like this for another half an hour, unconsciously keeping each other warm and watching the television in silence. Castiel can feel his eyelids start to drop, and he recognizes his body’s way of letting him know that he needs sleep whether he likes it or not.

“Dean?” he says sleepily, trying and failing to keep his eyes open as he waits for Dean’s reply.

“Yeah?” Dean returns quietly, although Castiel can tell by the sound of his voice that he’s just barely hanging onto his consciousness as well.

“Thank you.” He can feel sleep practically dragging him down by the ankles now as his head slumps to the side on the back of the couch, not really noticing or caring that his head has lolled only inches from Dean’s.

“What for?” Dean asks, practically a whisper.

“Everything,” he replies honestly, no longer able to resist the sleep that he’s been running from for over an hour. All he can do is hope that his dreams don’t haunt him once again, whatever they may be.

The last thing his brain acknowledges before finally falling asleep is the feeling of Dean’s head sagging on to his, and the quiet whisper of his voice. “Any time, man.”

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Dean’s awoken from one of the best sleeps he’s had in a long time by the sound of his brother’s snickering and what sounds like a camera phone clicking a picture. Is he still asleep? Is this a dream?

The laughter continues and he hears another click, but his eyes stay firmly shut as he tries to decide whether or not he’s still asleep. He can feel a very comfortable, warm pressure leaning into him, and a mass of hair is tickling the skin under his nose as it moves when he breathes in and out.

_Fuck._

His eyes snap open and he prays that he’s not about to find Sam standing in front of him, snapping pictures of him and Castiel sleeping together on the couch, but his prayers go unanswered. He supposes that’s because the only person who ever responded to his prayers is sleeping on his shoulder, a tiny amount of drool staining Dean’s t-shirt, blissfully unaware of the situation they’ve put themselves in.

“Sam,” he says in a stern whisper, trying his best to incite fear into his brother while at the same time not waking up the sleeping ex-angel at his side. “You better delete that right now, or so help me god I will _end you.”_

Sam grins even broader at that, and damn it all to hell there is no way he is going to convince him to get rid of those pictures. Even _he_ knows this is like striking the goldmine of brotherly teasing. Of fucking course Sam decides to get out of bed _today_ , right _now_.

“But Dean,” Sam replies, grinning like an idiot, “you’re both just so gosh darn _adorable_. How could anyone resist?”

Dean just narrows his eyes at Sam, and he really wants to be angry but he can’t help the small part of him that’s ecstatic to see Sam up and out of bed, let alone _smiling_. He just wishes it wasn’t at his expense.

“If you don’t delete those pictures I am going to make sure that you are bed ridden for another _month_ , do you hear me?”

Another click of the camera goes off in response, and Dean groans and throws his head back to glare at the ceiling as Sam chuckles again. He wants more than anything to get up and rip that phone out of his brother’s hands, but he doesn’t want to disturb Cas’ sleep.

“Alright, I’ll stop” Sam finally says, snorting and rolling his eyes as he makes his way to the kitchen. “You were way cuter when you were asleep any ways.” Dean tries one more menacing glare as Sam exits the room, but unless Sam has eyes on the back of his head it’s useless.

As soon as Sam is gone, the warm body pressed against his side shifts for a few seconds. He looks down at Castiel and watches him twitch, and wonders what it is that he’s dreaming about. He hopes it’s not another nightmare.

A small smile traces Castiel’s lips though, and Dean feels his annoyance dissipate and relief flush through him. Must be a good dream, then. He supposes he can take some lifelong teasing for the sake of Castiel’s first good dream.

He watches Castiel sleep for what’s surely pushing the limit of what’s normal amongst best friends, but watching him gives Dean a strange sense of peace. What with the way his eyelashes flutter and the small smile that’s strung up on his face… Dean briefly entertains the word _cute_ to describe him, before deciding he’s about 2 seconds away from having to turn in his man card and shoos that word out of his brain.

He turns his head and checks the clock beside the TV, only to find that it’s not even 8 in the morning. He still feels tired, and he _really_ is comfortable. He supposes the worst has already been done, and he doubts Sam is ever going to delete those pictures…

“GARTH SAYS YOU GUYS ARE CUTER THAN A BASKET OF FLUFFY KITTENS,” Sam’s voice booms from the kitchen followed by his stupid, annoying laughter and what sounds like a text message coming through on his cell phone. “KEVIN AGREES.”

 _Nope._ Definitely can’t get any worse than this.

He decides that he deserves at least one good night’s sleep and closes his eyes, leaning his head back on top of Castiel’s. Cas’ body subconsciously wiggles closer to him as he sleeps, and Dean allows slumber to take him once more.

Castiel doesn’t have another nightmare that night, and for once neither does Dean.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--


	6. The Almost Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean and Castiel go to a bar to celebrate Sam's good health. They might drink too much, and Dean might get jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> So this season is totally frustrating me. I'm starting a "Screw Angels" club by the way, if anyone's interested. And no, we will not literally be screwing angels. We're just going to loath them to our very cores.
> 
> That's a lie, I am not starting that club. Any ways! This chapter is very, very long. And I hope that makes up for the fact that it took 2 weeks, but it was so difficult to figure out how I wanted to end this chapter. I'm still not sure I like it, to be honest!
> 
> But I hope it is to your satisfaction :)

 

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

 

CHAPTER 6:

The Almost Kiss

 

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

It’s been a week since Castiel came back home to the bunker, and he’s happy to report that he’s slowly grasping the concepts involved with being human more and more each day. Sure, there are difficulties, but he has help in the form of the Winchesters.

He’s also happy to say that Sam has been up and out of bed every day for the past 5 days. He’s eating solid foods (although he has politely refused Castiel’s attempts at cooking for him, for some reason), and he’s walking around and spending time with Dean and Cas outside of his bedroom. It’s a big improvement, and he can tell how grateful Dean is for it despite him not saying anything. The three of them have been watching movie after movie, and every time Sam laughs at something Cas can see Dean’s face brighten a little bit more each time.

As much as he enjoys hanging out with the brothers, he has decided to spend a couple hours in the library today. He wanted to give them some space to bond on their own, and he has made it a personal goal to read through the entire encyclopedia set that he found on the top shelf of one of the bookcases. It made him sad to see such a large and valuable collection of information gathering dust, not likely to be read anytime soon thanks to the internet. He’s already on the book that outlines everything beginning with the letter “D”.

He’s too distracted by the information that he often finds himself craving as of late to notice someone approaching the library. He’s roused from his trance at the sound of Dean quietly knocking on the door frame before he enters and takes a seat across from him.

“Hello, Dean”, Cas says, sticking the piece of scrap paper he’s been using as a bookmark between the pages of his encyclopedia and closing it to give Dean his full attention.

“Hey, Cas” he says, giving him a weird look, as he often does when Dean says hello to him in their own home. “You know you don’t have to say “Hello, Dean” to me every time I enter the same room as you, right?” he asks, trying to do his best impression of what he thinks Castiel sounds like. He fails miserably, in Cas’ opinion.

He nods his head once in return. “Yes, you have told me many times. I can’t promise I will stop.” It seems rude to not greet people who enter the room.

Dean stares at him with an arched eyebrow before shaking his head lightly and shrugging his shoulders. “Whatever, but don’t ever say I never told you it makes you look like a weirdo.” Castiel opens his mouth to rebut, but not before Dean can cut him off. “Any ways, Sam and I were thinking we should all go out and celebrate his… being awake-ness,” he stutters, motioning with his arms in a gesture that must signify being awake in Dean’s mind. “We’re gonna’ go get some drinks at that bar down the road. You coming?”

Castiel ponders this, his face scrunching up in thought as he tries to decide if this is something he’s going to enjoy. He looks at Dean again, only to see Dean rolling his eyes before he can answer the question.

“Come on, man, we could all use a night out. We really want you to come with us,” Dean says, his voice trying not to sound like he’s pleading, but his eyes betray him, as they often do.

Cas gives him a small smile and moves his book to the side. “I suppose if you want me there so badly, then I shall join you.”

Before he knows it, Dean is blushing and clearing his throat. It’s something he’s noticed a lot more in Dean over the past week. “Well, err, you know… It’ll be fun to get you nice and loaded,” he says coolly, standing up from the table. “In fact, it’ll be hilarious.” He’s grinning now as he apparently things about what Castiel would be like inebriated.

“Well, I don’t know about “getting loaded”,” he says, standing up to follow Dean out of the library. “But I will join you nonetheless.”

“Oh trust me,” Dean replies, giving him a cheeky grin over his shoulder. “You are getting _loaded_.”

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

They head out about an hour after Dean informs Castiel of what their plans are for the night. Usually it’s him who’s holding up the party getting ready before a night out on the town, but Castiel takes even longer than him. He comes out of the bathroom with his hair gelled in that familiar way it always use to be styles when he still had his angel powers, and he’s changed his shirt as well. He’s wearing plain black jeans with a plain white V-neck shirt that Linda the sales lady talked him into buying last week. Dean would be lying if he said it didn’t look good on him though. Apparently Cas has been picking up on these things, like what’s appropriate to wear to what places.

Sam whistles lowly behind him, giving Cas a once-over before nodding in approval. “Wow Cas, you clean up good,” he says, giving him a bright, friendly smile.

Cas gives him a bashful smile in return. “Thank you, Sam. Linda was very helpful.”

“Linda?” Sam asks in reply, his eyebrow going up as he looks to Dean for affirmation of what Cas is talking about.

“The sales lady who helped us out when we went shopping for Cas last week,” Dean clarifies, although he’s not sure he does a good job of hiding the mild disdain in his voice. _Linda_ , ugh.

“Ah,” Sam says, his face relaxing and turning back towards Castiel. “Well, I think she did a great job, then. We might be beating the ladies off of you with a stick,” he laughs, causing Castiel’s eyebrows to scrunch up in a horrified expression.

“ _Why_ in the name of heaven would we-“

“It’s just a _phrase_ , Cas,” Dean says exasperatedly. “We’re not actually going to be beating any ladies with anything. Now get your jacket and let’s roll out,” he adds, trying to ignore the small part of him that’s now worrying about the ladies fawning over Cas.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

They decide to walk to the bar; or rather Sam has to _insist_ that they walk. He knows Dean is going to be drinking too much tonight and he doesn’t want to risk him driving the Impala afterwards. It often doesn’t take much more convincing than “think of what the Impala will look like wrapped around a tree” before Dean’s scared straight.

The night is cool, but not too cold. He hasn’t left the bunker since he got there after the trials, and the chilled fresh air feels really good. He’s been feeling a lot better over the past few days, and Dean is right when he says they all need a good night out. He doesn’t think sitting in the bar is going to take too much out of him, and he might even find himself as drunk as Dean tonight.

It only takes them about 15 minutes to walk to the bar, and it’s easy to keep a conversation going between the three of them lately. It’s nice to be able to talk about movies and things that Cas learnt on the animal channel, as opposed to the latest hunt or murder in the area. They arrive at the bar in good spirits and Dean excitedly pulls open the door, ushering Cas and Sam through the entrance like a kid at Christmas.

The bar is a bit more crowded than what they’re used to, but it doesn’t bother Sam any. He imagines Cas might get a little overwhelmed, but before he can turn to Cas to gauge his reaction, Dean is already steering him towards an empty booth in the back corner of the bar.

He quickly follows behind them and slides into one of the empty benches before either of them can sit. Dean sits in the bench across the table and Castiel decides to sit on the other side of Sam. It only takes a matter of seconds before a waiter is over at their table, asking if they’d like anything to drink.

“I’ll just have a pint of whatever’s on tap,” Dean says first, turning his attention back to Sam and Castiel to see what they’ll order.

“Uh, I’ll have the same, thanks,” Sam adds.

He and Dean both stare at Castiel, waiting to see what he’s going to ask for, but Cas simply turns his head between them, staring back like a wide-eyed toddler waiting to be told what to do. A gentle laugh from beside Cas gets their attention though, and they all look up at the waiter at the same time.

The waiter is smirking back down at Castiel, ignoring Dean and Sam completely, and his hand runs through his light brown hair once before dropping back down to his side. “Do you, err… want the same as well?” he asks politely. Sam thinks he might see something more behind the waiter’s sparkling green eyes, but he doesn’t think too much about it as he waits for Castiel’s answer.

Castiel gives the waiter a polite smile and nods his head. “Sure,” he says casually, almost like he’s been a human for as long as Sam and Dean. “That seems like an appropriate thing to order at an establishment like this. Correct?” Well, maybe not _quite_ as long as him and Dean, then.

The waiter raises his eyebrows at that, but he does give Cas a fond sort-of smile before nodding with a quiet laugh. “Uh, yeah,” he says, his cheeks turning sort of pink. “Yeah, people do tend to drink beer when they’re at a bar, yes.” Okay. Sam is like… 90% certain that this guy is into Castiel, now.

Castiel smiles back at him, probably oblivious to the different kind of attention the waiter is giving him (… _probably_ …), and nods his head again once. “Then that is what I shall have. Thank you.”

The waiter grins back at him, a sort of lopsided grin that Sam has to admit is very charming and probably has lots of people melting at the knees. “Alright, three beers coming right up,” the waiter says, his eyes settling back on the table instead of Castiel. “My name is Jake, by the way,” he adds, seeming a bit flustered again as his eyes dart back between Castiel and the rest of them. “I probably should have said that first.” He backs away in a rather awkward manner, the three men at the table watching as he almost bumps into another person behind him. “I’ll uh, be right back with the drinks.” He gives Castiel one last smile before disappearing in the direction of the bar.

Wow. He seemed so calm and collected at first. Sam gets the feeling that Jake isn’t the kind of guy who usually gets flustered, so hats off to Castiel for that, he supposes. He briefly entertains the idea of letting Castiel know that Jake is clearly into him. He’s not sure if Castiel would reciprocate, though. Does he like guys? Does he like girls? Maybe he doesn’t care either way? Maybe he doesn’t like anyone. He was an angel, after all. Although, it’s not like angels haven’t strayed in that way before…

His train of thought stops the instant his eyes turn back towards his brother across the table from them. He’s seen that expression before, although he’s not sure why he’s seeing it now. Or why it’s being turned on Cas for that matter. Dean’s jaw is clenching and he’s staring Cas down in that way where he is trying to hide his feelings and will probably say nothing’s the matter if someone asks, but Sam knows better after many years. He knows that look like the back of his own hand.

Sure enough, Cas focuses his attention back on Dean as soon as Jake is gone, and his eyebrows furrow with concern. “Is something the matter, Dean?”

Dean seems to zone back in to reality and shakes his head quickly, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “No, no,” he says unconvincingly. A big, phony grin spreads across his face as he looks between Cas and Sam. “You boys ready to get drunk?”

He’s not fooling Sam in the slightest, and from the skeptical look on Castiel’s face Sam has to guess that he’s not fooling Cas either. Cas seems to let it slide though as he gives Dean a tight-lipped smile in return. “I suppose so,” he says in reply, turning his head to smile at Sam as well. Sam smiles back at both of them and prays that whatever is going on here doesn’t come up again for the rest of the night.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Castiel feels… he can’t even explain how he feels. He feels drunk. He _is_ drunk. He’s probably, most likely, definitely drunk. He’s sitting in the booth with Dean and Sam and he is drunk and life feels fantastic. He’s having way more fun than he’s ever had before in a small, dingy dive bar.

They’ve each had four beers and six of what Dean and Sam keep calling “shots”. Which is just a small amount of liquor that you throw back in one shot. _Which must be why it’s called a shot_. It makes much more sense now.

“Hmmmmmmm,” he slurs, and he knows he’s slurring but he doesn’t seem to care. He thinks he might be leaning against Sam to keep himself upright, but he is comfortable so he has no intention of moving.

“Hmmm?” he hears Sam reply from above him. “What’s so “hmmm”?”

“I was thinking of how shots are probably called shots because you drink them in one shot,” he says as way of explanation. He’s pretty sure he’s right.

Now he can hear the sound of Dean’s laughter floating over the table, and it stirs something deep within his chest to hear Dean laugh. Like a really happy, really nice sort of feeling. Almost like being drunk. Like… _double_ drunk.

“Have I ever told you how fucking weird you are, Cas?” Dean says, his speech just as slurred as Cas’. “I probably have. Just in case though, you know. Now you know. And you’ll probably hear it again, I’m sure.”

“You are not coherent, Dean,” he replies, his own smile pulling at his lips. He feels Sam’s shoulder move underneath him, like he’s nudging him.

“Cas,” Sam says, amusement laced through his voice. He’s pretty sure Sam’s not slurring as much as him and Dean, but he’s getting there. “You’re making my arm fall asleep.”

“That’s rather preposterous,” he replies. “How could a limb fall asleep. It does not even have consciousness to begin with. It is neither awake nor asleep. Don’t be so preposterous, Sam.”

Sam laughs from beside him again, a rather thunderous sound underneath Castiel’s ear. “Whatever, man. Besides, I thought _Dean_ was your cuddle buddy, not me!”

Dean scoffs at that, but his drunken face just makes it look more hilarious than anything else. “We aren’t _cuddle buddies_ , Sam,” he says from across the table.

“You are making a rather hilarious looking scrunchy-face,” Cas replies, choosing to ignore the cuddle buddy discussion. He has no idea what they are speaking of, and he feels like he probably doesn’t want to know.

Sam laughs again at Cas’ comment from beside him. “He’s right Dean, your face does look hilarious. Also, yes you guys totally are. Using each other as pillows on the couch?”

Dean rolls his eyes, but it’s not nearly as effective when his eyes are struggling to stay open and focused. “Oh please, just because we fell asleep on each other _one time,_ that does not mean we were… _cuddling_. Right, Cas?” He turns his half-lidded expression onto Cas now as he waits for him to back up his claims.

“You are rather comfortable,” Cas says instead. Sam bursts into another fit of giggles from beside him, and his shoulder shakes with laughter. Cas grunts in annoyance and lifts his head from Sam’s shoulders, and then Dean is laughing, and that makes Cas start laughing, and they’re all laughing.

Just then, Jake the waiter shimmies up to their table with an empty tray and takes their empty shot glasses. “Another round, boys?” he asks, smirking down at the three men. Castiel imagines it must be a rather amusing sight.

“Whadda’ ya’ say, guys?” Sam says happily from beside Castiel.

Castiel grins at Sam and then aims his grin back up towards Jake and nods his approval. Jake smiles back down at him and laughs quietly as he shakes his head back and forward. “You guys must be having a great night tonight!” he says. “I’ll be right back with some more,” he adds as he makes his way back towards the bustling bar. The crowd has definitely seemed to thicken since they first arrived, and Castiel watches Jake disappear into it.

“I like him,” Cas slurs as he turns back towards Sam and Dean. “He is very good at his job.”

Sam seems to smirk at that, but Dean grunts from across the table. “I don’t”, he says grumpily. “I don’t trust him. You know what? If I had to pick anyone here to be a demon or monster in disguise, it would be Jake.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at him at that. “I think the amount of alcohol you have ingested is altering your usually above-standard perception, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes at him. “A guy has to _earn_ my trust. That’s all I’m saying.”

Sam is giving his brother a look that conveys exactly what Castiel is thinking, but he decides to ignore Dean’s grumpy antics and they change the topic to something else.

About ten minutes go by, but Jake still hasn’t returned with their drinks. They keep looking over at the bar, but Jake is nowhere to be seen. Finally, Castiel decides he’s tired of waiting and he’d better just go up to the bar himself. It’ll be faster that way.

He stands up and tells that much to Dean and Sam, who both agree that it’ll be faster, Dean throwing in a comment about Jake’s poor waiting skills. Which Castiel feels is unfair, but he stumbles over to the bar in the centre of the pub without another word any ways.

He tries to find an open spot at the counter, and finally spots one right beside the part of the counter that swings open like a door for the waiters and waitresses to get through. He can see Dean and Sam’s booth from where he stands, and he waves at them with a grin from his spot before turning his attention back to the bar after they reluctantly wave back to him, Sam looking particularly embarrassed. He waits a couple of minutes, patiently waiting for the bartenders to handle the people who were there before him, when a finger gently taps him on his left shoulder.

He turns his head to his left, assuming that he’s in someone’s way and preparing to apologize, only to be met with a pair of dazzling, bright green eyes and a rather endearing smile grinning back at him. They seem so familiar, which is bizarre considering they’ve only just met a couple hours ago.

“Getting impatient?” Jake asks, although Castiel can tell that he’s only joking. He thinks the alcohol has given him some sense of humour, if he’s being honest.

Cas gives a small laugh in return, looking back towards the boys at their table. They aren’t paying any attention this time, though. “My apologies,” he finally says, looking back at Jake. “We couldn’t see you anywhere. We thought perhaps you had forgotten about our order.”

Jake’s smile gets impossibly bigger. “I definitely have not forgotten about you, trust me…” he says, trailing off to reach over the bar’s counter and grab a bottle of liquor. He nods at the bartender in a silent communication and gets 3 shot glasses, then places them on the bar right-side up. “I just finished my shift 5 minutes ago, but I was going to come and stop by your table once more before I go.” Castiel realizes now that Jake doesn’t have his apron on any more, and he must have taken it off at some point.

“So are you guys just passing through here? I haven’t seen you around before,” Jake asks, slowly pouring alcohol into one of the shot glasses.

“You could say we are relatively new to the area,” Castiel says vaguely. Even in his drunken state he knows you can never be too careful. “It is our first time at this bar, though.”

Jake nods and starts pouring the second shot. “Yeah, I think I’d remember you if you’d been in before.” His eyes flick up from the glass to lock onto Castiel’s for a quick second as he talks, before bringing them back towards the glass, careful not to overflow it.

“Well, perhaps you shall see us around more often. I have had a lot of fun tonight,” he replies, grinning back at Jake. His body feels very loose and… floaty… for lack of a better word, and he can feel his blood rushing through his veins. It’s a feeling he thinks he could definitely indulge in every once and a while.

Jake’s eyes flick back up to Castiel’s, and Castiel notices that there’s something different about the way that Jake looks at him. Not like how other people he’s met look at him (except maybe Dean, but that is definitely not for the same reasons, he’s sure of that). It makes him feel important, like things he says and does are worth listening to and watching. If Castiel didn’t know any better, he’d say that Jake is interested in him in a… _romantic_ way. Maybe? His human instincts haven’t seemed to kick in yet, so he can’t be sure.

“So, err,” Jake starts, his face turning a light shade of pink. Castiel can’t help but stare at the contour of his jaw and the few freckles that dust his nose. He doesn’t often notice the beauty in other humans, but he finds himself not being able to look away from Jake now. Perhaps this is due to his drunken state? “Think you’d ever bring your wife down here? Or, err, girlfriend…? Or…?”

Jake’s face is bright red now, and even Castiel can see this as the thinly veiled attempt at discovering Castiel’s relationship status for what it is. He’s not sure how he feels about that. He supposes this newly acquired humanity is what’s causing this rather strange attraction towards Jake. Is that what this is? Attraction? He’s not sure. He thinks so, though.

Should he pursue it? He doesn’t see anything wrong with experiencing this part of humanity. Sam and Dean have both indulged in romance quite a bit in the past. It’s all part of the learning curve, right?

Castiel feels himself smile at Jake’s question, that sense of being wanted making him feel almost giddy as Jake anxiously waits for his answer. “I do not have a wife. Or a girlfriend. Or any other romantic attachments,” he says directly.

Jake smiles at him again at that, the worry gone from his face as he pours the final shot. “Oh. I see,” he says, attempting to act casual. Castiel feels himself smile on his own accord now, and he starts to understand why this type of romantic pursuit could be seen as entertaining. “That’s, err. Cool,” Jake babbles on while Castiel watches him intently as he finishes pouring. “Yeah, I’m not seeing anyone right now either.” He gives Castiel another quick leering stare as he places the bottle of liquor back on the other side of the bar.

He leans back towards Castiel when the bottle is back in its spot, his face mere inches away from Castiel’s now. His tongue darts out of his mouth and slowly runs along the length of his bottom lip, or maybe it just seems like slow-motion because of the alcohol. Is that an effect of alcohol? Castiel isn’t sure. All he knows is that he can’t stop himself from staring down at Jake’s mouth and watching with severe interest.

He’s _pretty sure_ that he’s attracted to Jake. He feels like he wants to lean in and kiss him. That’s probably attraction, right? He can’t think of anything else it could be.

Jake’s eyes are staring down at Castiel’s mouth as well, and that may or may not mean he wants to kiss Castiel back. “Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?” Jake asks quietly, his eyes coming up to meet Castiel’s again. Castiel thinks he can hear his own blood pumping through his ears now, and his heart feels like it’s beating faster. It’s a surprisingly blunt question, but it makes him feel good about himself in a weird sort of human-y way. Emotions are very strange.

“Yes,” Castiel replies honestly. Jake laughs a little at that, but then he’s looking down at Castiel’s mouth again and he’s leaning in, and Castiel is very drunk right now but he’s leaning in too; not because he has been ordered to by Heaven or Dean or anyone else, but because he _wants_ to and he knows Jake wants _him_ , and it feels so very nice to be wanted for more than his skills as a soldier or his powers.

Castiel’s eyes are closed now as his nose touches Jake’s, and they’re both turning their head, each other’s breath dancing over the other one’s mouth. Castiel waits for the warm, light touch of lips against his… but it never comes.

Because _Dean is an idiot._

The next thing he feels is not Jake’s soft lips against his, but is instead Jake’s face being ripped away from his by a force strong enough to create wind as it pulls him away. Castiel’s eyes snap open on instinct, and he’s horrified to see Dean standing beside him, practically seething as he holds Jake by the collar and shoves him against the nearest wall with far too much force than should be used on a being of the non-supernatural type, growling something inaudible into Jake’s ear.

Jake’s eyes are wide as he stares down at Dean, clearly very scared for his life and not having any idea why this is happening. Sam is there within a matter of seconds to try to pull Dean off of him, but there’s a lot of alcohol flowing through both Dean and Sam right now, and it’s definitely _at least_ a two-man job.

“Dean!” Castiel shouts, anger flowing out of him now like an over-boiling pot. His call goes ignored though, as Dean continues to hold Jake up against the wall, his feet barely touching the ground in a position that looks distressingly uncomfortable.

Sam’s still trying to pull Dean away from him on one side, and now Castiel is pulling on the other side of him, desperately trying to get him to loosen his grip on Jake. Even with the two of them trying to pull him back Castiel knows how strong Dean is, and it’s no use.

Suddenly, there’s a third pair of arms wrapping around Dean’s waist and pulling him away, and this time Dean loses his grip on Jake as he’s dragged away through the bar, kicking and trying to throw punches at the security man as he carries him out, all the while shouting profanities and demanding to be put down. Sam’s right on his heels, still trying to talk him down, although the source of his rage remains to be unidentified.

As soon as Dean is out of sight, Castiel turns towards Jake and tries to help him stand up from the floor where Dean’s left him in a heap.

“Are you alright?” he asks franticly, reaching out a hand towards him and helping him stand.

Jake shakes his head, still looking equal parts bewildered and terrified as he stares after where the man has escorted Dean out of the bar. “I thought you said you weren’t seeing anyone?” he asks defensively, the leering looks and flirtatious talk a thing of the past.

Castiel’s eyebrows furrow. “What? I – I’m not!”

Jake turns back towards him, an incredulous look on his face, but he eventually softens. “Look, I don’t know what your err… friend’s… problem is, but I think you better go with him.”

Castiel nods his head disappointedly. He can’t say he blames Jake.

“But,” Jake says, grabbing Castiel’s hand and placing a small piece of paper in it. “If anything changes, and you wanna’ hang out or something, give me a call?” He gives Castiel one more smile, albeit a much sadder one this time, and makes his way towards the kitchen where Castiel assumes the back entrance is.

He looks down at the little piece of paper in his hand, a phone number scrawled across it with Jake’s name and a small doodle that Cas thinks might be a customary interpretation of a human heart. He folds the paper and carefully slides it into his pocket, a burst of sadness pulsing through him. He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or the being-human-thing that’s amplifying his emotions, but it’s frustrating and very tiresome.

He looks up towards the exit, and the sadness and disappointment are quickly flushed out of him and replaced with a new wave of _fury_. He starts pushing his way through the crowd, not even making an attempt at apologizing for his elbows as he plows through them to get to Sam and Dean.

He finally makes it to the exit and bursts through the door, looking around him. He doesn’t have to look hard though; Dean is walking back and forth on the road in front of the bar, kicking rocks and whatever gets in his way, while Sam is standing there with his arms crossed like a disappointed father.

As soon as Sam spots Castiel he walks over to him, an apologetic expression on his face. “Hey, Cas, how’s Jake? Is he okay?”

Castiel pushes his anger down for a brief minute and nods solemnly at Sam’s question. “Yes, he will be fine.”

“Good, good,” Sam says, nodding his head up and down. “I’m really, _really_ sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” he adds, gesturing behind him to Dean, who’s now marching his way over towards them with a new look of determination, fists balled up beside him like he’s getting prepared to punch something.

“What,” Dean starts, his voice booming through the empty parking lot, “had to make sure your _boyfriend_ was okay?” His words are practically dripping with venom as he reaches Sam’s side, Sam’s arm stretching out to stop Dean from getting any closer to Castiel.

A wise move, Castiel thinks, for _Dean’s_ sake.

He feels his own fists ball up as he steps closer to Dean, nothing but Sam’s arm and about 5 inches between them now. “Would you like to tell us what the hell that was about?” he asks angrily, returning Dean’s furious glare with ease. “Since when do you attack perfectly innocent people for no reason, _Dean_?”

Dean scoffs at that, his eyes rolling to look anywhere but Castiel’s face. “Oh _please_ ¸ I was doing it for _you_ , Cas!” he spits in return, although even he doesn’t look too convinced by that excuse.

Castiel lets out a dark, sarcastic laugh at that. “Really? Helping me how, exactly?”

Dean’s eyes snap back to his and his anger seems to double. “That guy was going to _kiss you_ , Cas! And you didn’t even know!”

Castiel shakes his head, his voice getting louder to match Dean’s. “I _did_ know that, Dean. I _wanted_ him to. And you… you _ruined_ it! For no reason!” His arms instinctively come up to push at Dean’s chest as he says that last bit, and Dean stumbles backwards, his face looking somewhere between disgusted and down-right pissed.

Sam’s placed his whole body between them now, his arm no longer able to hold them back on its own. “Guys! I don’t know what the fuck has gotten’ into you,” Sam shouts, a rare swear word crossing his lips, “but you’re both drunk and fighting over something _stupid_. Let’s just go home and sleep it off.”

Dean shakes his head and marches down the road in the direction to get back to the bunker, not waiting for Castiel or his brother and not saying another word to them the entire walk home, jeeping at least 15 feet ahead of them at all times.

When they finally get back to the bunker, Dean storms in and head’s straight for his room, not even trying to finish what he and Castiel started in the parking lot. Castiel’s anger isn’t gone, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. Dean’s anger is almost always expressed through shouting matches and violence, not silence and holing up in his bedroom.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Okay. So… maybe Dean overreacted a few hours ago. And maybe he ruined everyone’s fun time. And he _definitely_ feels like an asshole, now that he’s sobered up.

He’s lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, as he has been doing for the past three and a half hours. He’s had time to think about what he did, like a toddler who’s put himself in time out. And he’s decided that what he did was kind of douche. But he still hasn’t figured _why_ it happened to begin with.

And honestly, “because I was really, stupendously drunk” can’t even excuse it this time.

He understands that he shouldn’t have jumped on Jake like that, but every time he thinks about Jake’s stupid face he imagines punching it over and over. It’s super, super unhealthy, and he can’t seem to understand why he hates him so much. He just… _does_.

The way he looked at his friend, like Cas is just some piece of meat put out for perverts like Jake to leer at whenever they please. It’s _infuriating_. And really, how can he feel that way? How many times has he pulled out those gaga eyes on hot girls at other bars himself? Far, far too many to count.

But the way that Jake talked Cas up at the bar, knowing full well how drunk he was. The way he seduced him with that stupid charm and that freaking smile. The way he leaned in towards Castiel and came _this close_ to taking advantage of someone who hasn’t been human for more than 10 days. It all makes him _so fucking angry._

But _why_ , did he get so angry? He was trying to protect his friend (or so he keeps convincing himself), but then Cas said that he had _wanted_ it to happen with Jake, and that just made Dean even _angrier_.

A small, treacherous part of him wonders if maybe it wasn’t his friend he was trying to protect, but his… territory.

Not that Cas is his territory. At all. But when he saw them leaning in towards each other at the bar, faces getting closer, eyes closing and noses touching, Dean doesn’t think he’s ever moved so fast in his life. Like some sort of mega, drunken Hulk that sprang into action out of pure ire.

He shouldn’t have gotten so angry, he knows that. But he can’t help it. He’s still getting worked up just thinking of it, and he’s not sure he will ever be able to scrub that image of some stranger putting the moves on Castiel from his mind.

He’s confused. He’s always been protective of his friends and family, but this is different. Almost like jealousy. Like some weird, friend-jealousy. Is that a thing? Well, it is now, because Dean refuses to admit that it maybe is the other kind of jealousy. Because Dean isn’t into anyone enough to be so jealous that he starts getting violent, especially if said person is your male best friend.

And it’s not fair to Castiel. Dean has no claim on him, and Castiel would never do to Dean what he did to Cas tonight if their roles were reversed. He’s well aware of Dean’s past escapades, and he’s _never_ said anything or shown any kind of jealousy. Which pretty much proves that even if Dean _was_ interested in being more -and that’s a big if because there are so many reasons why that’s not going to happen- Cas evidently does not feel the same way.

And so, Cas is human now and free to do as he wishes with… who… he wishes. Even if it’s with some pretty boy named Jake. Pretty, scrawny, _fucking stupid_  Jake.

_He fucking hates Jake. So much._

He breathes in and out to calm himself down, then decides enough is enough and pulls himself out of bed. He needs to make things right with Castiel, even if he can’t explain himself.

He quietly tip toes out his bedroom door, past Sam’s where his brother is snoring soundly, and down to the end of the hallway. As expected, Castiel is sitting on the couch watching some special on lions, hardly visible beneath the mound of blankets he’s wrapped up in.

 He knows Cas knows he’s there, and that means he’s ignoring Dean. He can’t say he blames him, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

He walks over to the empty side of the couch any ways and sits down, trying to figure out how to start. Castiel refuses to look at him, but he does hold up the side of his blanket, a silent invitation for Dean to share it with him.

Dean accepts the offer and slides over closer, careful to keep a solid foot of distance between the two of them as he tucks the blanket in on the other side of him. They aren’t saying anything, but the tension in the room between them is thick enough to cut with a knife.

Five minutes goes by, and another, and another, and before Dean knows it, they’ve been watching the television in silence for nearly half an hour. This is easily the saddest excuse for an apology that he’s ever tried to make.

“I’m not mad at you,” Castiel says finally, breaking the horrible silence between them. His voice is quiet and much sadder than usual, and Dean finds Cas’ statement very difficult to believe because of it.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” he retaliates, his eyes remaining fixed on the television, even as he sees Cas turn his face towards him in his peripheral vision as the admission leaves his lips.

Castiel stares at him for what seems like ages before Dean finally mans up and turns to face him in return. His blue eyes seem sad, as Dean expected, but they also seem rather surprised.

“I am not mad at you,” Cas says again, his voice firmer this time. “I realize now that you were only doing what you thought was right. Defending my honour, if you will.” He looks so damn sincere, and it’s ripping Dean’s heart in two. Because he knows deep inside of him that that’s not what happened tonight. He heaves a sigh and allows his head to fall back against the back of the sofa as he glares up at the ceiling, the pattern almost identical to the one above his bed.

“No,” he says quietly, shaking his head slightly as Cas continues to stare at him. “No, I wasn’t. That’s not why I did it.” His head flops back forward and he turns to meet Cas gaze again, his chest tightening at Cas’ betrayed look.

“Then why…,” Cas starts, and it’s his turn to shake his head now. “Why? He did nothing to you, Dean.”

“I don’t know,” he says semi-honestly, his cheeks filling with blood as he basically admits that he behaved like an idiot for no good reason. “I just… I don’t know, Cas.”

Cas just stares at him as a response, his eyes less angry than they were earlier tonight but still just as sad and confused. But Dean doesn’t know what else to say about it, because even _he_ doesn’t understand.

“I just really… didn’t like the guy. I guess,” and he’s pretty much waiting for Casitel to punch him in the face now. “I just got so angry when I saw him, you know… leaning in,” he adds quickly, his cheeks flushing even more. “When I realized you guys were gonna’… you know…”

“Why would that make you angry?” Casitel throws out in return, his voice quiet as his stare burns through Dean like a laser beam.  And isn’t that the question of the night…

Dean cringes and shakes his head. “I can’t answer that,” he says just as quietly. “It just does.”

“Because it was Jake or because it was happening at all?” Cas questions, his face steeled as he continues to interrogate Dean.

Dean sighs and rubs his face with his hands. “I don’t know, because it was him I guess. What’s so great about _Jake_?” he asks bitterly.

 “Well I’ll likely never find out now,” Castiel says just as bitterly.

Dean can feel his illogical anger flaring up at that, but he pushes it down and gives Cas a tight-lipped, apologetic smile. “Well, I’m sorry,” he says finally, although he can’t say he means it as much as he should.

Cas sighs a little and caves. “I wanted to kiss him,” he says honestly, his eyes darting down quickly to Dean’s mouth before bouncing back up to meet Dean’s eyes. “And he had nice eyes.”

It’s getting more difficult for Dean to keep a straight face now, the images of Jake’s eyes raking over Castiel’s face replaying in his mind over and over as he gets angrier and angrier.

Castiel continues to stare at him, either unaware of or un-phased by Dean’s frustration. “And he had these freckles-“

“ _Lots of people have freckles_ ,” Dean snaps, his eyes shutting as soon as the words are out. He breathes in and out to calm himself back down. When he opens his eyes again, Cas is still looking at him without any indication that he cares about what this is doing to Dean.

“He made me feel… wanted,” Castiel admits, his face finally falling a bit. “The way he was unashamed to look at me that way, or say such things to me… and I know he only wanted me for _me_ , and nothing else. It’s not something I feel very often.”

Dean stares at him, his mouth opening to ask something but unable to form the words he wants. He feels like he should say that that’s all he’s ever wanted Cas for as well, for his company or his personality or even just knowing he’s in the bunker somewhere (obviously, since he’s definitely not getting anything else out of Cas the Human right now). But that would mean admitting that he wants Cas, and he’s clearly not even ready to admit that to _himself_ yet, if it’s true.

“Perhaps _that_ is the difference between his freckles and other people’s freckles,” Cas says reflectively, more to himself than to Dean, and he turns back towards the television.

Dean’s eyebrows furrow at that, because _what?_ He reluctantly lets it slide though because he just wants this torture to be over, wants to forget about Castiel liking other people’s freckles. He turns his attention back to the television, trying to ignore the feeling of Cas’ confession like it’s gnawing at him from the inside.

Another ten minutes go by before Castiel speaks again, this time more quiet and thoughtful sounding than before. “What about laughter?”

“What?” Dean answers, not really understanding what he’s asking.

“Laughter. What if another person’s laughter makes you feel… happy? Like it warms you from the inside out just to hear it.” he clarifies. “Is that a typical sign of your attraction to someone?”

“Jake’s laughter?” he asks quietly, almost sadly. He didn’t really hear Jake laugh, but he’s sure it’s fucking _magical,_ the prick...

“No,” Castiel says quickly, shaking his head. “I’m just… curious.”

Dean turns to stare at him for a long minute before answering. “I think that’s more than just attraction,” he says finally, not really sure what brought on that question and not wanting to think about _who_ brought on that question, although he thinks Jake might be a good guess despite Cas’ denial of that.

Castiel grunts in understanding. “That is what I was afraid you’d say,” he nearly whispers.

Not going to think too hard about _that_ comment either, Dean decides. He runs his hands over his face again and lets the back of his head hit the sofa as he looks back at Castiel.

“Look, are we okay here?” he asks exasperatedly. He just wants to pretend like this whole night never happened.

Castiel turns to meet his gaze and cocks an eyebrow at him. “That depends. Are you going to continue to attack people if I try to kiss them?”

 _Yes, probably, for some reason_ , he instantly thinks, but he knows better than to say it out loud. “Are there going to be _others_?” he says instead. Although, that answer might not have been a better one.

“There could very well be,” Cas returns. “In fact, Jake gave me his number after they dragged you out of the bar like a screaming child.”

Dean’s jaw clenches at that, at the thought of Jake ever getting near Castiel again, at the realization that Castiel is a human being now, and he’s going to explore these types of things if he wants, because there’s nothing stopping him from doing so. But before he can say anything even more stupid, Castiel cuts him off.

“I threw it out,” he says quietly, still holding Dean’s stare. “I don’t want you to be angry.”

Dean officially feels like the world’s biggest asshole now, because Cas is throwing away perfectly reasonable opportunities for him and getting nothing out of it. “Cas…” he starts, wanting to tell him that he didn’t have to do that, that Dean wouldn’t have gotten angry a second time. But he knows that’s a lie and he just _can’t_ say it.

“It is fine,” Castiel says, not waiting for Dean to finish. “I think I have figured out why I was attracted to him to begin with, and I don’t think it’d be wise for me to see him again...”

That piques Dean’s interest, but he knows he doesn’t want to hear the answer to that. He pretty much never wants to see or hear about Castiel kissing anyone or being attracted to anyone or even _touching_ anyone, if he can help it. So Cas is just going to have to keep these things to himself from now on. Hide them from Dean at all costs…

“So, are we still friends?” he asks again, trying to change the subject.

“Of course,” Castiel replies.

Dean smiles at him, relief flooding through his system like sunlight washing over a previously dark space. “Good.”

Castiel mirrors him with a small smile of his own and gently moves closer towards Dean until their legs are pressed against each other under the blanket, similar to how they were when they fell asleep like this a week ago. Dean still thinks it’s weird, and it’s probably not normal friend behaviour, but it’s so damn comfortable and he and Cas have never been normal. What’s the point of starting now?

He settles down farther into the couch, straddling the line between sitting uneasily close to Cas and _cuddling_ against him. It doesn’t take long for his head to get heavy and his eyes to start closing as he falls deeper and deeper into sleep. He has too many thoughts circling around his mind, and he’d just really like to be unconscious for a few hours.

He can feel Castiel’s head loll to the side and thump against Dean’s as he tries to stay awake. Dean chuckles a bit at the sensation of Castiel’s head hitting his own in a failed attempt to keep it upright, like a child who’s worn himself out for the rest of the day.

“Have I ever told you how wonderful your laughter is?” Castiel practically whispers, sounding like he’s talking in his sleep more than asking a question. Like he’s in some sort of trance and doesn’t realize he’s even speaking.

Dean’s first reaction is to blush at the compliment, but then previous words from their conversation start ringing through his mind.

_‘What if another person’s laughter makes you feel… happy?’_

Dean’s heart practically stops and his eyes whip open. Was Cas talking about… Dean?

No…

No, that can’t be right.

Can it?

But… who else could it be? Who else does Castiel even _know_? Nobody that Dean can think of.

He’s not sure if he wants to panic and run away forever, or jump for joy over the fact that _it’s not Jake’s laughter._ Before he has time to pick one, though, he feels Castiel’s sleeping body unknowingly curl into his, his face burrowing in the crevice of Dean’s neck and his steady breathing tickling Dean’s skin.

He could turn away. He could get up and go to bed, right now. Cas would never find out about what’s happening right now and Dean would never tell him.

But he doesn’t. He realizes that he doesn’t care that Castiel is his best friend, or that he’s a supernatural being who is several millennia old, or that he’s even _a dude._ It feels nice to have him laying on him, in fact it may actually feel _nicer_ than when anyone else has ever laid on him. He stays where he is and curls in closer to Cas, allowing himself to fall asleep with him yet again.

And if Sam wants to make fun of him later, well then so fucking be it.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's really long and I am still not sure I am happy with the ending, but I do think some important progress was made. It's getting increasingly more difficult to keep them in character.
> 
> Reviews are appreciated, as always. :)
> 
> -ArticulateFiction


	7. The Tattoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam take Castiel to get an anti-possession tattoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> Here's another chapter for you. It's a bit more fluffy than the last one, as promised.
> 
> Hope you like it! :)

  
\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

 

CHAPTER 7:

The Tattoo

 

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

The idea comes to Dean about 4 days after the horrible excuse for a night out on the town that he single-handedly ruined for everybody.

He’s had a few days to think about his behaviour that night, and he’s not proud of the way he acted. He’s already apologized to Castiel for his outburst, but he had been unwilling to admit to himself or to Cas that he’d had a secret agenda beyond “defending Cas’ honour” when that waiter at the bar had put the moves on Cas.

The fact of the matter is that he was jealous. Which is _super_ confusing. He doesn’t want anybody else to have Cas, but at the same time he’s not entirely sure he wants Cas that way either.

There are so many reasons to not even think about starting something with Castiel. He and Cas are best friends, and he likes it that way. And he’s never been good at relationships, let alone _into guys…_ So it’s all very confusing that he may or may not want that with… Castiel. Castiel, the _ex-angel of the freaking Lord_.

Castiel, the one who raised him from hell and saved his life more times than anyone could count…

But he’s not that guy. He’s never been a relationship guy. Castiel hardly knows any other humans besides Dean and Sam, and it wouldn’t be fair to Castiel without knowing how much better than Dean there is out there. So, _so_ much better. Dean’s already proven that at the bar a few nights ago.

Not to mention, again, the whole “dating a dude” thing. He’s never shown any interest in other men before, so that doesn’t make sense to him either. He supposes there are situations where a person could look past another person’s gender if the personality was special enough, but is that something that _Dean_ is capable of?

There was that one time, though… back before Dean took Castiel shopping for clothes and he had come out of the shower in nothing but a towel. Dean had looked, he won’t lie. He’s not sure if it _turned him on_ , per se… but he definitely felt flustered and sort of like… like touching. Like, maybe it didn’t matter that it was a guy’s body naked, it just mattered that it was _Castiel’s_. The fact that Castiel, his best friend, was naked near him… it’s rather intimate. Does _that_ get him hot?

Well…

That leaves him with one of the few reasons why he could, _maybe_ start something with Castiel.

And when he apologized for attacking the bar guy and he and Castiel had been sitting beside each other on the sofa, there was that thing that Castiel said about Dean’s laugh.

 _“Laughter. What if another person’s laughter makes you feel… happy? Like it warms you from the inside out just to hear it.”_ he clarified _. “Is that a typical sign of your attraction to someone?”_

 _“I think that’s more than just attraction,”_ Dean had replied.

And then later, in his sleepy state: _“Have I ever told you how wonderful your laughter is?”_

It had honestly made Dean feel like the most important person in the world. And that’s always how it’s been when Castiel compliments him or treats him like a “work of art”, as he’s called it before. “God’s beautiful creatures.” He pretends like it weirds him out, but if he’s being honest with himself it makes him feel really, really awesome. Maybe that’s because he didn’t get much approval from his father, but that’s a whole other can of worms that he can save for a later date.

And does all that mean that Castiel is into him? He thought that might have been something that would creep him out, but the thought actually makes him feel phenomenal. Like he’s worth something to someone (who isn’t Sam or Bobby).

So now here he is, getting dressed for the day in his bedroom in front of the floor length mirror, pondering what this all means. Whether or not this is a sudden turn of events, or whether it’s something that’s always been there underneath the surface. If he and Castiel could ever work out as a thing, and if Castiel even _wants_ to be a thing.

It’s too much to think about in such a short span of time, and he really needs something to take his mind off of everything for a few hours.

He’s pulling his shirt over his chest when the idea finally comes to him.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

“Hey Cas?” he asks, wandering into the living room once his clothes are on.

“Mm?” Cas mumbles lazily, his eyes still glued to the television. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to win his attention away from the documentaries lately.

Dean narrows his eyes at him, not taking too kindly to being ignored. He walks over to stand in front of Cas, effectively blocking the view of the peacocks’ mating ritual that’s playing on the screen. Cas’ eyes snap up to meet Dean’s and he looks thoroughly annoyed, but then his eyes go wide with surprise when Dean grabs the bottom hem of his t-shirt and pulls it up to his chin to expose his torso.

He’ll admit it’s a rather dramatic way to get Castiel’s attention, but it definitely works. And he’s not as uncomfortable as he thought he’d be when Cas’ eyes trail over his exposed body, his mouth sucking in his bottom lip as he chews on it. Cas has stared at him many, many times in their past time together, but that’s _definitely_ new…

Cas’ eyes quickly look up to meet Dean’s, his previous and brief change in personality replaced with his familiar stony and calm expression. He cocks an eyebrow at Dean, but he doesn’t wait for an explanation before offering up his own.

“Is this some lousy attempt at mimicking the peacock’s mating routine, Dean?” he asks in a voice as plain as day.

Dean can feel his eyes nearly bug out of their sockets like some comical cartoon, and his mind stops to a halt. He stutters on words that fail to exit his mouth as Castiel stares back at him looking thoroughly proud with himself for leaving Dean speechless.

Was that a joke? From Castiel? A fucking _sex_ joke?

Castiel just continues to smirk and stare up at him in that way that’s unique to a current or ex-angel. Dean’s mind finally jumps back into action at the realization that he’s blushing now.

“You wish,” he finally answers lamely, unable to come up with a better answer than that with his mind on the fritz. He’s also not sure if this is considered _flirting…_ but he probably doesn’t want to know.

“I’m just trying to show you this,” he adds, pointing at the tattoo that he’s been sporting on his chest for many years.

Cas’ eyes follow where Dean’s finger points, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Your anti-possession tattoo?”

“Yeah,” he responds, his cool demeanor slowly returning. “I think you should get one now that you can, you know… be possessed.”

Castiel stands up, now only a few inches away from Dean, but his eyes don’t leave Dean’s chest. He tilts his head to the side and reaches up a steady hand, his finger lightly tracing the lines of the design that has been permanently etched into Dean’s skin.

“You want me to get this tattooed onto myself,” he says quietly, more a statement than a question. He continues to trace the art with his finger, and Dean can feel his heart beat picking up speed, blood rushing to his head and obstructing his thought process. It’s like Cas’ finger has some sort of electricity pumping through it and into Dean, like nothing he’s ever felt before. “Like a permanent mark to represent my newfound humanity.”

 _Get a hold of yourself, Dean_ he thinks. _This is not the first time Cas has touched you._

“Yeah,” he finally breathes out, and damn it, when did his mouth get so dry? “It’s probably a good idea.”

Castiel nods in agreement and removes his finger, his eyes meeting Dean’s once more. “Very well. Are you taking me now?”

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Castiel is sitting in the back of the Impala, carefully listening to Sam’s tattoo advice. It’s his understanding that it’s not going to be a pleasant process, but the hour or so of pain is well-worth his safety in the long run.

They had looked up the closest tattoo parlour to the bunker beforehand, but it’s quite a bit of distance away. Apparently the bunker is “in the middle of the boondocks”, according to Dean. Besides a small grocery store, a couple of bars and a slew of diners, there isn’t much in their area.

Castiel doesn’t mind the drive, though. He’s taken to looking out the window and watching the trees go whizzing by. It’s become rather comforting, and it gives him time to clear his mind from troubling thoughts. Up until now, he had been using the television to distract himself from his new human-issues, but he’s seen what too much television can do to humans and he’s rather glad for the change in scenery.

He can’t help himself from thinking about the last time he went out with Dean. It had definitely not been a successful endeavour, but he has since gotten over the ordeal.

Dean had admitted he was in the wrong, and that he shouldn’t have attacked Castiel’s suitor, Jake. He had also admitted that he had not had any reason in particular for doing so, which confuses Castiel to no end.

He did apologize, though, and Castiel is almost happy for Dean’s bad behaviour. It didn’t take long to figure out what it was about Jake that had attracted Castiel after he sat down and thought about it for a few hours. Bright green eyes, tousled brown hair, a splash of freckles across his nose… sounds familiar, right?

Castiel has always had a special place in his heart for both of the Winchesters, but everybody knows that his attachment to Dean is… different. Up until recently, he hadn’t really dwelled on why that was. He also hadn’t had humanity to deepen his emotions and intensify his previously almost-non-existent sexuality.

That’s not to say that an angel can’t feel or desire, because history has proven that they can. But now that he’s human, everything seems amplified. Emotions seem much clearer, and his feelings for Dean have become evident.

Because that is what has happened. He has… _feelings_. For Dean. Before he had just labeled them as “different” feelings, now he knows that they are in fact _romantic_ feelings. And he’s very, very upset to have come to this realization. Up until the Jake incident, he had been living blissfully unaware, happy to explore his human sexuality with whomever came up to him at a bar and told him he had beautiful eyes. Now, there would be constant underlying thoughts when interacting with others.

_Does this person look a lot like Dean? Why doesn’t this person look more like Dean? This person will never be Dean._

Dean has ruined every other human being on this planet for him, and the worst part is that he’s something Castiel will never have. Dean is one of the billions of people on this Earth to restrict their sexuality to a specific gender, and Castiel is not of that gender. Not to mention the fact that Castiel is, well… _Castiel_. If there was anyone in the world deserving of Dean’s affections it would not be Castiel.

He’s pretty much accepted that he will never have Dean in the way that he now knows he truly wants him, but at least he can have Dean as a friend. As family. Because Dean is far too loyal for his own good, and Castiel is equally so. And if Castiel has to live every day of his human life with the pain of knowing that Dean will never want him back, well then at least he will get to spend time with Dean in the only way that he can. He’s not going to run away again, not this time. No matter what.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

After about forty minutes of driving, they arrive at the tattoo parlour. Sam had tried his best to explain the process to Castiel and warn him that it might be a bit painful, and now all he can do is watch to see how Cas reacts.

Dean’s standing at the counter and talking with the guy who’s elected to do Cas’ tattoo. He’s a rather tall, built looking man with a sleeveless vest and black jeans. He’s got on a white and black Pink Floyd t-shirt, and he’s absolutely covered in tattoos. He seems to know what he’s doing, which is important because this tattoo has to be exactly as it’s shown on the piece of paper in Dean’s hand.

He and Cas are sitting in the chairs by the front door, patiently waiting for the man to tell them it’s time to go back. Sam turns to gauge Castiel’s reaction to all of this, but when he looks at Cas he seems rather… distracted. But in a weird sort of _calm_ way. Like he could either be thinking very, very hard, or not thinking at all.

He’s about to ask Cas if everything is okay, but he’s interrupted by the tattoo man’s gruff voice from behind the counter.

“Alright, man,” he gestures at Castiel, who snaps his head towards him. “Let’s get you ready.”

Cas gets up and follows the man to the back room behind the counter, and Dean and Sam are both behind him. The man turns around slowly and arches an eyebrow at the sight of Dean and Sam having followed him, but he doesn’t say anything. Sam supposes it must be weird for a grown man to need friends with him to get a tattoo.

The man motions for Castiel to sit in the tattoo chair, and he does so as gracefully as you’d expect an angel too. He starts preparing his materials and cleaning his hands in the sink, then turns towards Cas.

“So, where are we putting it, and how big?”

Dean and Sam both instinctively pull down the collars of their shirts to expose their tattoos in the same place on their chests as an answer to the man’s question. Another eyebrow goes up at that, but again, he doesn’t say anything.

If Sam had to guess though, he’d say the man’s probably assumed that this is some weird sort of satanic cult thing and just wants to get them out of here as quick as possible.

“’Kay,” he mumbles, putting on protective gloves. “Off with the shirt.” Castiel nods and wordlessly pulls his t-shirt over his head and looks around for a spot to put it. Sam sticks out his hand in an offer to hold it for him, which Cas gives him a grateful smile for.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

So here Castiel is, shirtless in the tattoo chair. And it’s not like Dean didn’t know this part was coming, because obviously, he did. And he had been trying to convince himself that it wasn’t going to affect him. Not this time.

But he might have been lying to himself, he realizes now. His eyes immediately start tracing the hard lines of Cas’ chest without any confirmation with Dean’s brain that it’s okay to do so. It’s not something he’s ever noticed on another guy before, but as he’s already come to understand, it’s different when it’s Castiel. His chest looks hard, and he has a strong desire to reach out and just touch. _God_ , he’s so weird. This whole thing is just so fucking weird.

Mr.Big (as Dean’s nicknamed him, since he’s quite possibly bigger than _Sam_ ) is reaching for a bottle of something out of the mini-fridge on the counter now, and wouldn’t that be _so awesome?_ A freaking mini-fridge at work. Oh, what’d he pay to be able to have a mini-fridge in the Impala to have with him on hunts. A couple of energy drinks in there, maybe some sandwiches… it would be _amazing._

Mr.Big slowly pours what’s hopefully rubbing alcohol onto a cloth in his hand, then turns back towards Castiel. Cas eyes the cloth with some skepticism, but a second later the cold cloth is rubbing circles on his chest and his face clenches as his body seizes from the temperature of it.

The man gives Castiel an exasperated look, and Castiel gives him a tight lip smile as he apologizes. “I’m sorry about that, it was much colder than I had anticipated.” The man ignores him and continues the cleaning process, while Castiel’s body jumps again from the contact. He doesn’t stop this time, though. “You should probably warn people about the temperature first. Or perhaps warm it up ahead of time,” Cas adds

The man ignores Cas even harder, and Dean turns to smirk at Sam. Sam’s already trying to hide his own smile though, his head down towards his feet.

After about two minutes of the rubbing alcohol, Dean is starting to wonder how long this process usually takes. Mr.Big’s hands have been splayed out on Cas’ bare chest for quite a long time now, and Dean can feel himself start to get jealous.

Maybe he should have offered to clean Cas himself. But that would be weird, right? Yes. Yes, that would definitely be weird. It’s probably already really weird that they’re even in here with Cas.

_Just let the man do his job, Dean, it’s fine._

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Once the man finishes with the rubbing alcohol, he grabs a disposable razor and starts to shave away the little amount of hair on Castiel’s chest where that tattoo is going to go. Sam finds it rather ridiculous that such a small amount of hair deserves the razor treatment, but he’s not the tattoo artist here, so maybe he’s wrong.

As soon as the razor makes contact with his skin, Castiel quickly looks up at Sam and Dean for silent confirmation that this is standard protocol, but he’s met only with the brothers’ teasing grins.

Sam supposes he has every reason to be confused though, based on the scruff around his chin. He clearly hasn’t had the chance to shave since he became human, and his usually trim five o’clock shadow is starting to turn more into a scruff. Maybe Sam is going to have to teach him how to handle that, since obviously Dean has let it slip his mind. In fact, knowing him, Dean is probably intentionally waiting to see how long it gets before Cas asks about it…

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

 _Oh man, imagine if Castiel ends up growing a big, Santa-like beard!_ Dean thinks. He would laugh forever. Literally forever.

As much as he wants to see that though, he sort of misses the five o’clock shadow thing Cas had going on when he still had his angel powers. Which is so stupid, to miss something as simple as facial hair.

Mr.Big finishes with the shaving, and he’s doing something at some sort of machine now. Something Dean’s pretty sure involves creating some sort of stencil for Cas’ skin, but he’s not sure. He takes the time to give Cas a reassuring smile, which Cas mirrors with his own warm one. The sort of smile that makes Dean’s chest swell like a huge freaking sap.

Yeah, he should probably show Cas how to use a razor one of these days soon.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Err, why are Cas and his brother smiling all sappy-like? That’s sort of strange, right? Dean hardly smiles for anyone, unless it’s to get information out of them for a hunt or something, or if he’s made some stupid wisecrack that only he finds funny.

Although, sometimes he catches Dean and Cas staring at each other for a longer amount of time than is considered normal. It could just be an angel-and-his-charge thing. Maybe Dean’s just trying to be supportive before the painful bit comes?

But… they’re still smiling. It’s been a solid fifteen seconds, now. That’s a really, _really_ long time for a smile. Right? Or is it just him?

The tattoo man turns around before Sam can answer his own question and places a wet cloth against Cas’ skin, followed by a tracing paper with the design they had brought in stenciled onto it. Castiel turns his eyes back to his own body as he watches with interest as the man works, and then as he carefully pulls away the paper after a couple of minutes to reveal a perfect stencil of the anti-possession mark.

He smiles at the design left behind on his body and the grins back up at Sam. “That was not nearly as unpleasant as you had warned, Sam.”

Sam and Dean turn to look at each other at the same time, then break out into a fit of laughter. The comment even earns a snort of amusement from the tattoo man, who’s preparing the tattoo gun and ink to start the line work.

Their laughter dissipates and Sam regains his control. “Cas, that’s just a stencil. Something for him to trace while he draws the actual tattoo. You know, with the tattoo gun. And the needle.”

Cas’ smile turns into a frown, then he turns back to look at the man who’s now holding up the tattoo gun to show to Castiel. “Oh,” he says disappointedly, settling his head back down against the chair and staring up at the ceiling.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

The sound of the tattoo gun coming to life is sort of nostalgic for Dean. It’s been a long time since he got his tattoo, but he remembers the irritating buzzing right beside his head that seemed to last forever. He’s never had any desire to get a tattoo since then.

He watches as the man leans in towards Cas’ chest and prepares to draw the first line. He can tell that Castiel is uncomfortable with the drilling noise, and then the needle hits his skin and it’s like he can actually feel Cas’ pain just by looking at his face.

His body flinches much like it had with the cold rubbing alcohol, and Mr.Big gives him a condescending glare.

“Keep still, or else you’re going home with a messed up blob for a tattoo” he warns. Castiel meekly nods his head and lets it fall back against the back of his chair. The sound of the drilling starts again, and this time Castiel grips either side of the chair with excessive strength when the needle touches down on his chest.

The man rolls his eyes and stops what he’s doing, leaning back to sit up straight again. “Don’t do that to my chair,” he says rudely, removing Cas’ iron-like grip from the side of the chair closest to him. “If you need something to hold on to, get one of your buddies here to hold your hand or something.”

Cas narrows his eyes at the guy, and maybe Mr.Big’s comment was meant to be sarcastic, but Dean sighs in what he hopes is a convincing way and stretches out his hand towards Castiel. Both Mr.Big and Cas turn to stare at it with raised eyebrows, the latter looking up to question Dean with his eyes.

Dean rolls his eyes in response and flexes out his fingers as indication for Castiel to take his hand. Eventually, Cas complies and reaches up to grip Dean’s hand. Mr.Big rolls his eyes too, and then leans back in towards Cas’ chest and starts the tattoo gun.

Cas clenches his hand around Dean’s the instant the needle touches him again and squeezes his eyes shut tight. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say that Cas had retained some of his angelic strength, because his hand is being _crushed_. Like an aluminum beer can when Dean crushes it after emptying it.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Okay. Okay…

Okay, so. Dean and Cas are… holding hands. Technically.

Well, not really. It’s more like Cas is squeezing the life out of Dean’s hand and Dean is pretending that he can’t feel it. But Sam can see the way his hand is turning purple; he’s no idiot.

He probably doesn’t have to read too much into this, though. I mean, it’s just one friend helping out another through a painful process. Right?

Yeah. At least that’s what it _would_ be if that friend was anyone but _Dean._

Sam doesn’t think Dean would even hold _his_ hand if he requested it… unless it was life or death. Like some weird sort of curse that involved them having to hold hands or else they die. And even that would be pushing it.

But here his brother is, holding another dude’s hand like he’s happy to do it. And honestly, Sam might think that he _is_ happy to do it. He’s not complaining, he’s not rolling his eyes, he’s not even frowning (except for maybe when Cas squeezes a bit too tight). He’s just standing there taking it, occasionally giving Cas reassuring smiles when Cas looks up at him. It’s weird, even for these two.

And at the same time, it makes same feel almost… hopeful.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

The tattoo takes about forty-five minutes to complete, and Cas hasn’t let go of Dean’s hand the entire time. He knows that he probably squeezed too hard at times, but Sam had not been exaggerating when he spoke of how unpleasant this process would be.

The man has finally stopped with his rather irritating machine, and he’s carefully bandaged up the area to protect it from infection. He’s explaining to them how to properly take care of the tattoo once they get home, but Castiel finds he is somewhat distracted by the fact that Dean is still holding his hand.

He supposes he could drop Dean’s hand first, but it’s so warm and so… _nice_. He’d rather enjoy it for as long as possible until Dean realizes his mistake and releases Cas’ hand

The man finally finishes speaking, and then he stands up and washes his hands at the sink again. Sam steps forward and hands out Cas’ t-shirt, and it’s only then that Dean quickly releases his hand so that he can take the shirt and pull it back over himself. The feeling of Dean’s fingers releasing his own is like someone has ripped a warm blanket away from him in the middle of his sleep. He finds himself craving Dean’s touch like a vampire craves blood, but he pulls his shirt over himself and rises from his chair.

Dean gives him another small smile and then follows the man to the counter, presumably to pay for the man’s service. Sam and him soon follow, Castiel being careful not to move his arm or shoulder on the side with his new tattoo. He vaguely recalls hearing something about treating it like it’s a wound, but he’s really hoping Sam was paying better attention.

He waits patiently at the door with Sam until Dean has finished the transaction, then they all exit the parlour and pile into the Impala.

“So,” Dean says, smiling at Castiel in the rear-view mirror as he starts the engine. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it? Now you’ve got your tattoo and I’ve got permanent nerve damage in my fingers.”

Cas narrows his eyes at Dean in return for the obvious attempt at humour, but there’s no malice behind Dean’s voice or his own stare. Sam chuckles from the front seat beside his brother as the car pulls out onto the road.

“I suppose I should thank you, though,” Castiel says as he looks out the window. “For holding my hand.”

A slight blush colours Dean’s face, and he pointedly avoids looking at either Cas or Sam (who may or may not be smirking to himself?). “Yeah, well Sammy has delicate little girl hands. He wouldn’t have lasted 30 seconds with a grip like yours,” he says, causing an eye roll from Sam.

“Interesting,” Cas replies. “I had thought _you_ were the one with the more feminine hands. They are rather soft.”

Sam’s smirk comes back with a vengeance and he turns it on Dean. “Hah! Thank you, Castiel,” he says smugly, smiling back at Cas.

“You’re quite welcome Sam,” he replies just as smugly. “Although I suppose I should also thank you, Dean, for paying for the tattoo.”

Dean snorts at that. “Well it’s not like you have a whole lot to offer as payment.”

Cas smirks out the window and says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Sexual favours?”

Sam barks out a loud laugh at that, and Castiel catches Dean’s huge eyes in the mirror as he struggles for a reply. Castiel’s found he gets a rather strange satisfaction for leaving Dean speechless.

“Oh man,” Sam says, still laughing as he talks. “Did he get funnier? I think being human is definitely making him funnier.”

Castiel grins at Sam and laughs lightly himself as he turns back towards the window, smile still painted wide across his face.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so that's another chapter for you guys. I'm probably going to start playing around more with Dean/Cas flirty type stuff for the next chapters.
> 
> Reviews are always appreciated, and thanks for reading! :)
> 
> -ArticulateFiction


	8. The Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel cooks dinner for Dean and Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody!
> 
> So I must have changed this chapter a hundred times. But I think it got to where I want it, although it is quite long.
> 
> It's super, super fluffy though, so I hope you all enjoy! :)

  
\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

 

CHAPTER 8:

The Dinner

 

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

It’s been five days since Castiel went and got his anti-possession tattoo, and the area on his skin has healed rather nicely. He’s always been amazed at the human body’s ability to repair itself over and over again. Like an unstoppable machine that refuses to die, soldiers on until its purpose in life has truly been filled.

Although, it doesn’t come close to the amount of time it took for his grace to heal… but that’s not any of his concern now.

He is a human being, and although he’s been trying his hardest to acclimate to his new situation, he’s been looking back on the past couple of weeks and he feels like maybe he hasn’t been trying hard enough. The way that Dean and Sam often have to explain things to him, the way they do things for him that other humans seem to do be able to do on their own… he’s starting to realize that he needs to learn these things for himself. Despite the Winchesters’ constant assurances that he is not a burden on their lives, he feels like he owes it to them to at least try and learn their ways.

And practice makes perfect, right? He needs to start doing things for himself, and he’d especially love to be able to do things for his friends as well. Despite not always being there for them in the past, he truly misses being able to just _help out._ It would mean quite a lot to him if he was able to help with something, _anything,_ again.

So when Sam wanders in to the living room and asks Castiel if he has any preferences for dinner tonight, he gets an idea.

“Actually, yes,” he says, standing up off the sofa, still clad in his rumpled pyjamas, and turning to face Sam. “I would like to request that I be permitted to make dinner for all of us tonight.”

He smiles brightly as thinks about the way Sam’s face had lit up when he had eaten a sandwich Castiel had made him the first day he spent at the bunker, and he remembers how proud he had been to be able to do something for himself. To give Sam that small amount of happiness in his time of dread.

He’s quite looking forward to being able to experience that again.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

_Oh god._

Oh god, _please no._

Not again. Please, for the love of _god,_ **not again.** He had told himself he never wanted to experience that torture ever again.

Dear, god… that sandwich. That terrible, terrible fucking sandwich. That may have been the worst experience in his entire life. Bar none. And he has _died_ before. He was technically in the process of _recovering from death_ when he ate that fucking sandwich. And that still was not the worst thing about that day, the sandwich had been.

It was _slimy._ It was _slippery._ It smelt like Death’s putrid, rancid breath.

_Who puts half an onion and anchovies on a fucking turkey sandwich._

One look at Castiel’s hopeful expression though, and he’s immediately reminded of why he ever agreed to take even one bite of that thing, let alone eat half of it. He’s smiling back at Sam like a child at Christmas, and Sam doesn’t get to see that smile very often. And the eyes, _Jesus Christ_ those eyes. Dean hadn’t been lying when he announced that there was a new puppy-eye master living in this bunker.

Cas’ face starts to falter as he waits patiently for Sam’s reply, and somewhere deep within himself he somehow manages to garner enough strength to give Cas a tight-lipped smile and nod in agreement. “Err, sure… Cas,” he struggles. “Yeah, absolutely. _Of course_ you can make dinner tonight.”

Cas’ face immediately picks back up as he grins at Sam, and he looks like he’s about to thank him. But then somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind he’s reminded of how that sandwich tasted coming back up, and he wonders if maybe he could try harder to avoid that this time.

“But, err… you know,” he cuts Cas off and looks around the room, pointedly looking anywhere but Cas’ face, “we could always just order in. Now that I think about it. You know, order a pizza, relax with some beers… nobody would have to worry about cooking or cleaning up after. You remember how awful it all is and how much you hated doing that… and… you know. You know? Yeah, no, everyone hates cooking,” he tries to finish lamely. The he makes the mistake of looking back towards Castiel. “Trust me, it’ll be better if we just order in toni-“

He abruptly cuts himself off with silence. He can’t finish, not with the way Cas’ hopeful expression looks like it’s been shattered into a million pieces and set on fire, leaving behind a crumpled face in its place.

How can a grown man possibly look so damn _sad? Surely he must be using some sort of witchcraft?_

Well, it was worth a shot. Nobody can tell him that he didn’t try to avoid this. And when his salted and burnt bones are lying in his grave beneath a mountain of dirt, beneath his headstone that reads “death by food poisoning”, at least his mourners will know that he had tried his damned hardest to stop this tragedy from happening. And if they question his abilities and _how hard_ he truly tried, they’ll only have to turn their head in Cas’ direction, his sad eyes staring down at Sam’s resting place with the guilt of his death riding on his shoulders, and they will understand. They will see his stupidly large and shiny eyes and they will agree “ _Sam was right; this was never something he could have stopped.”_

“You know what,” he finally spits out, his last sense of hope dangling by a thread. “I change my mind again,” he continues as he gives Cas his most convincing smile. “I’d love it if you could make dinner tonight, Cas. Thanks.”

And just like that, Cas’ face is filled again with excitement and pride, his emotions giving Sam whiplash. “Thank you, Sam,” he says politely. “I am looking forward to being able to serve you another delectable meal. If you had only seen your face the last time…” he says happily, trailing off. “Well, I look forward to seeing it again,” he finishes, and Sam has to wonder if maybe he should have gone into acting instead because _Cas thinks he enjoyed that death sentence?_

And then all of a sudden he’s being _hugged_. Castiel hasn’t hugged him for ages, and only if it was for something really important, and he’s just _so grateful_. Sam hugs him back and smiles, a real smile this time, and says “No problem, man. I’m sure you’ll do great.”

At least this time he can take solace in the fact that Dean has to participate in this rather than watch from the sidelines with maniacal glee, and he starts to wonder if it’d be too cheesy for them to have matching headstones.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Castiel is sitting in the library, trying his best to sort through different cook books for something that sounds appetizing. Sam offered him his laptop to look for recipes online, but Castiel will always prefer the feeling of a book between his hands and the ability to flip through the pages whenever he wants. The laptop frustrates him to no end, and he tries to avoid it as much as possible.

“Alright, well I’m just gonna’ go let Dean know that he doesn’t have to worry about cooking tonight,” Sam says happily as he heads for the hallway. He’s got this huge smile on his face, and if Castiel wasn’t so sure that Sam had loved his prior attempt at cooking he would say that Sam was _forcing_ such a large smile.

But he knows better, Sam _loved_ that sandwich. He had said so himself. And he is going to love what Cas makes for dinner tonight too, he just knows it. Dean will, too. And then he can sleep easy tonight knowing that he _can_ conquer humanity and he is just as useful as he was before.

He’s scanning through the “desserts” category in the book he’s found, when he hears Dean’s loud and incredulous voice shouting “WHAT?” from the living area.

Castiel smiles proudly to himself as he finds what he’s looking for in the pages. Cleary Dean is just as excited about dinner tonight as Sam is.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Dean’s slowly following Castiel through the grocery store aisles, trying to fight with his inner thoughts about whether or not he should just fake a sudden and urgent emergency and drive away, “mistakenly” leave Castiel here without any money until the emergency is over after the store has closed.

If Cas doesn’t have any ingredients, then he can’t make dinner. Right?

No. He’d probably come up with something else. Either puppy-eye the checkout girl until she inevitably gives in and lets him take all the food for free, or make something else at home using the little ingredients that they _do_ have. And that’d likely end up even worse.

So he’s resigned to follow Castiel and just let this train wreck of a dinner happen. He’s not even telling Dean and Sam what he’s making. He keeps saying “it’s a surprise” and then he looks so fucking happy and _he hates Sam. He equally hates him and loves him for agreeing to this._

He doesn’t have it in him to say no to Cas about this either, though. It means so much to him, and Dean will never understand _why_ , but he guesses it’s got something to do with being helpful to them even in his human state. And Dean had told him once that he’s not a burden, that they don’t mind doing these things for him until he gets the hang of it, but apparently that’s wasn’t enough to convince him otherwise. He probably should have a real conversation about it with him later, but until then he needs to let Castiel do this one thing on his own.

This one thing that may end his and his brother’s life, but he’s trying not to think about that… Although just in case, he already told Sam that the matching headstones are a no-go. Far, far too cheesy.

They’re in the spice section when Castiel seems to be tallying up everything in his shopping basket, then finally looks up at Dean and nods his head. “I believe I have everything I need,” he says curtly, trying to hide how excited he is for this. It’s strangely endearing, but Dean tries to push those thoughts away as he smiles back at him with as much charm as he can muster.

“Great! Everything you need for _what_ , exactly?” he asks, desperate to know what it is that is going to send him to an early grave.

Castiel rolls his eyes and heads for the checkout counter. “Nice try, Dean,” he says playfully. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Despite his frustration with that answer he smirks to himself and follows after Cas to the checkout. He helps Cas empty the basket onto the conveyor belt, and it all _seems_ normal, but Cas can be quite, err… _creative_. He’d had never thought to put anchovies on a turkey sandwich, is all he’s saying.

The young checkout girl smiles brightly at the two of them as she starts to run their items through the scanner. “Find everything okay?” she asks, her voice far too pleasant to actually be real.

“Yes, thank you,” Castiel replies politely, giving her a small smile in return. Dean can’t help but marvel at how much better he’s gotten at interacting with people outside of the Winchester group. He’s not perfect at it, but at least he can answer basic questions now without freaking someone the hell out with his answers. He finds it makes him strangely… proud.

He vaguely hears the sound of the checkout girl clearing her throat from beside him, and he snaps back to reality, his gaze turning from Castiel’s concerned face to hers. The total for the groceries is flashing on the screen in front of her and she’s waiting expectantly for some sort of payment.

Apparently he’d been staring again. Oops.

 “Sorry,” he says, reaching for his wallet in his back pocket and picking a credit card at random. It doesn’t really matter which fraudulent card he uses, after all.

The girl smiles back at him, and she looks far too _understanding_ for Dean’s likeness… then instructs him to swipe the card when the machine indicates. He does, and they’re out the door and clambering into the Impala within minutes.

“Are you feeling alright today, Dean,” Castiel asks thoughtfully, turning his worried gaze onto Dean the second he has his seatbelt clipped in.

Dean raises an eyebrow at him and turns to meet his gaze. “Yeah,” he says confusedly, “why?”

Castiel narrows his eyes slightly as he tries to search for some sort of deceit in Dean’s answer. “You zoned out back there for a while, I thought it’d be best that I confirm you were alright.”

Oh. _Right._ That…

“No, I was just, err… thinking. ‘Bout stuff.” Wow, way to keep him off the scent, Dean.

Castiel looks pensive, but he nods his head and turns his attention back towards the front of the car. “Very well,” he says, seeming convinced. “I hope you were thinking about how much you’re going to enjoy dinner tonight,” he then says with a proud little smirk, thankfully changing the tone of the conversation.

Dean can’t help but grin at that as he starts the engine and starts to pull out onto the road. “Someone’s being a little cocky, dontcha’ think?”

Castiel continues to smirk out the window. “Well, when one spends most of his time in the company of Dean Winchester…”

“Hey, I am _not_ cocky,” he says, pointing his finger at Cas, “I’m just honest.”

“The fraudulent credit card you just used to pay for the groceries three minutes ago may beg to differ,” Castiel says smoothly, turning his head back towards Dean, his smile smug as ever.

“Well how else am I supposed to fund all your lavish purchases, huh?” he says jokingly back, taking his eyes off the road to arch an eyebrow at Castiel. “New wardrobe, tattoo, _vegetables_ … what’s next, a tiny dog in a purse? You’re worse than a rich housewife.”

Castiel snorts at that, a small smile still playing on his lips. “Well, I could always take to the street and use my body to earn some honest money like the woman from that movie we watched the other night… but I’m worried that you might punch all my clients.”

“That happened _one time_ ,” Dean quips back, thinking of Jake the waiter who Dean ruthlessly attacked for no reason besides the fact that he considered kissing Castiel in front of Dean. “But you’re damn right I’d do it again,” he admits.

Castiel rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “You know I don’t need you to defend my honour,” he replies, although Dean now knows that’s not really the reason why he did what he did, but he’s not going to correct Cas. “I am a grown man after all. I’ll have you know that I have been a human for over two weeks now. I can handle things on my own.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, I know you can,” he answers, smile softening as he says it. “You, err, know we don’t think you’re helpless though, right?” He might as well bring it up while he’s alone with Cas.

Castiel’s smile falters slightly at the change of topic. “I _feel_ helpless, sometimes,” he says honestly.

“You’ll get the hang of things,” Dean says, trying to be encouraging. “And you don’t have to worry about, you know… holding us down, or not being helpful, or anything,” he adds awkwardly, trying to get his words in order. It’s important that Cas hears this. “That’s never been the only reason we want you around, Cas.”

Cas turns his head towards Dean and fixes an intent stare on him, as if trying to figure out what it is that Dean means. “We like you for, you know, you…” he says, his eyes flicking between Castiel and the road, trying his best to gauge Castiel’s reaction. “You’re important to us. No matter what.”

He can feel his skin start to heat up under Castiel’s gaze, patiently waiting for him to say something. “You’re blushing,” Castiel finally says, his voice a mixture of confusion and amusement.

Dean feels his skin burn hotter. “What? No I’m not,” he says lamely, keeping his eyes locked on the road in front of him. It’s no use though, and he can see Castiel smirk from beside him in his peripheral vision, stare still boring through the side of Dean’s skull.

“Yes, you are,” Castiel says, amusement trumping the confusion in his voice this time. “You’re embarrassed to admit that I am of importance to you.”

Dean rolls his eyes exasperatedly. “No, I’m not, I jus-”

“No,” Castiel cuts him off. “You misunderstand. That is how I know that you really mean what you said,” he says fondly. “You don’t blush when you lie.” This time Dean turns his head to see Cas’ face, and his shy smile is full of joy and something else that Dean can’t quite put his finger on.

“’Course I meant it,” Dean says gruffly as he turns his eyes back to the road, trying to add some much needed testosterone to this chick-flick  moment. He can’t keep the manly charade up when Castiel smiles at him like that.

“Well, you are very important to me as well,” Cas says quietly, completely ruining Dean’s attempts at putting his man-wall back up. “Perhaps too important,” he adds, a small laugh escaping his mouth. Dean can feel a warmth blossoming through his chest at the admission.

“Do you recall when I tried to kill you?” he then asks, smile still tugging at his lips.

“Um, _yeah_ , it’s kind of hard to forget,” Dean replies sarcastically, although there’s not fire behind it.

“Naomi, she had taken control of my mind,” Cas starts recalling, although Dean’s already heard this before. “She actually had me conditioned to kill you. She set up hundreds of re-enactments for me to practice killing you, and every time I finished she would set up another.”

“What?” he asks, even more horrified of her than he had been before. “You didn’t tell me that part.”

Castiel just laughs darkly. “It wasn’t exactly something I thought you’d want to hear. She thought she had trained me to kill you,” he continues. “Thought that after doing it so many times over and over nothing could go wrong when the time came that I came across the real Dean Winchester.”

They’re finally pulling in at the bunker, and Dean thinks about that night in the crypt, when Castiel had been so close to finishing him off before snapping out of it and fleeing. He had always known that it had been his begging that had gotten through to Cas and assumed that he could never have gone through with it, but now he knows that Castiel _had_ gone through with it. Hundreds of times? And yet he still was able to stop himself when it came to the real Dean. It makes it seem even more important that Cas had been able to stop himself than it had been before.

“Despite that,” Castiel says from beside him, still smirking as he thinks about how he defeated Naomi’s hold on him as Dean shuts off the engine, “I couldn’t do it when it came time. And that is how important to me you are, Dean,” he says, laughter in his tone again. “It’s rather ridiculous, actually. And has proven to be quite dangerous.”

Dean can’t find anything to say in response to that. He stares at Castiel, willing the words to come to him, but nothing seems satisfactory. Castiel turns to meet his gaze, and his eyes are slightly shiny, much like Dean’s probably are right now too. He can’t help himself as he leans towards Cas and pulls him in for a tight hug, hoping he can get everything he’s feeling across without using any actual words.

Castiel seems startled by the sudden embrace, but he quickly returns it and pulls Dean in tighter. “It is dangerous,” Dean whispers. “And self-destructive, and maybe even lethal,” he adds with a laugh. “But you wouldn’t be an honorary Winchester if you weren’t willing to give up everything for the people you loved.”

He briefly kicks himself for using the L-word and assuming that Castiel considers himself part of their family, but Castiel doesn’t object as he laughs into Dean’s shoulder. “Truer words have never been spoken,” he replies affectionately.

Dean smiles again into the hug, a happiness washing over him that he hasn’t felt in a really, really long time, and he wonders whether he’ll ever have the guts to admit to himself and to Castiel that he probably loves him in more ways than the one.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Castiel is standing at the counter in the kitchen, preparing his dinner as best he can. He’s buzzing off the excitement of it all, plus the added buzz from his earlier interaction with Dean, and he’s been grinning to himself like a madman since he came in from the bunker.

Dean had made it clear how important Castiel is to this family, something that he had maybe hinted at before but had never full-out said out loud. Not like today. And he even referred to him as “an honorary Winchester”. The words had made his heart swell in his chest, and he felt so undeniably happy to hear those words that he had almost started crying.

An ex-angel of the Lord, close to _tears_.

His emotions were really getting to him lately, but rather than feeling lonely and a little bit sad like he had felt earlier this morning, now he felt happy. He had thought he would never have Dean as anything more than a friend, but now he knows that Dean in fact considers him _family_. He had only said it one other time, and that was when Castiel had been mercilessly beating him to death, so he had never been sure that Dean had truly meant that or if it had been a desperate exaggeration to get Castiel to stop.

But he now knows that dean cares about Castiel regardless of what he’s done and what he’s failed to do, and he and Sam just enjoy him _as a person_. They don’t care about his powers, or lack thereof, they only care about _him_. It makes him feel like he’s definitively found where he belongs, despite this not being where he’s from.

Heaven hasn’t been home for him for a very long time, and the Winchesters have just swooped in and permanently stolen that title for themselves. And maybe he’ll never have Dean in _all_ the ways that he knows he wants, but at least he has this. And this is pretty damn good.

He had politely requested that Dean and Sam remain out of the kitchen until he’s finished so that it remains a surprise. So far, he thinks he’s doing a rather good job. He’s making spaghetti and meatballs, and he’s decided to pair it with a salad for Sam’s enjoyment.

As for dessert… homemade apple pie. Which may or may not be a veiled attempt at winning over Dean’s affections with his favourite food, but he’s never going to admit to that.

He’s doing his best to follow the instructions right to the letter. He’s already got the spaghetti noodles in a pot full of water, and now he’s focusing on the meatballs. The recipe calls for ground beef, bread crumbs, eggs, various spices, and some chopped leaf-type item called parsley.

He’s already got the beef in a large plastic bowl, ready to be mixed with the other ingredients. “A cup of breadcrumbs,” he reads aloud to himself. He grabs the bread crumbs out of the shopping bag and scans the cupboards for a cup. The book does not specify what size, so he assumes it doesn’t matter. He grabs one at random and pours the breadcrumbs in until the cup is entirely packed fill, then dumps them in to the bowl with the ground beef.

“One fourth of a cup of chopped parsley…” He grabs the parsley and a suitable chopping knife, then pulls out the cutting board as Dean had shown him once before. He carefully chops the leaves, unsure how chopped they should actually be, then throws them all into the same cup he used to measure the breadcrumbs.

He looks into the cup and realizes that the leaves fill far more than one quarter of it, so he dumps some into the sink until he has the proper amount. Then he dumps the remaining leaves into the meat and bread mixture before turning back to his recipe open on the counter.

“Two eggs?” He’s only ever seen eggs cooked on the frying pan at diners. Does this mean raw or cooked? He briefly considers asking Sam or Dean for help, but decides that he’s got to prove to himself that he can do this on his own. He’ll just have to take his best guess and see if he likes whatever comes out of the oven later.

He heads towards the kitchen and gets two eggs out of the carton, then brings them over to the bowl and re-reads the instructions. He ultimately decides that it’s likely talking about the eggs as they are, so he throws both the eggs into the bowl and continues his reading.

“One teaspoon of allspice. What…?” What in god’s name is a teaspoon? It can’t be a spoon made from tea… right?

It must be a spoon that’s been _used_ for tea. It seems rather silly to have to make some tea just to dip the spoon in, but he’s not going to argue with the instructions. He raids the cupboards for some tea, and when he finally finds some he turns on the kettle and brews some of it. Once it’s ready, he finds a serving spoon in one of the drawers, dips it in the tea he’s just made, and then pours allspice in it until it’s full. He dumps the spice into the meat mixture.

The last thing on his meatball recipe is a “pinch of salt”. He has no idea why humans would feel the need to pinch the salt… but he pulls the container of salt that’s up in the cupboards down, opens the lid, pinches it (although he feels rather foolish doing so), then just decides to grab a handful and toss it in with the rest of his ingredients.

Now comes the part where he mixes it all together with his hands. He reaches his hands into the bowl and begins to squeeze at the meat, the feel of it squishing between his fingers being equal parts disgusting and soothing. He can feel the eggs he threw in start to crack open under the pressure of his hands working, and the gooey egg makes the concoction even more slippery than before. His nose scrunches up in displeasure as he carries on, mixing and squeezing, the eggshells digging in to his hands and the meat getting under his finger nails, until all the ingredients look rather mixed.

The next step is to roll the mixture into meat balls, then put them on a tray and into the oven. The recipe says that the mixture makes 30 meatballs, but he’s only feeding three people. He grabs the baking sheet from the storage compartment in the stove, then starts rolling the meat into three separate balls. He stares down in horror at the three melon-sized balls of meat that are now sitting on the pan, wondering to himself why humans feel the need to overindulge with their recipes.

Despite how ridiculous it seems, he’s well aware that spaghetti and meatballs is a common dish for humans, and he wants to hold up to Sam’s and Dean’s expectations of the meal. He slides the pan with the three meatballs into the oven and closes the lid. The instructions say to leave them in there for twenty minutes, which should give him plenty of time to make the sauce.

The sauce, for some reason, is mostly made up of various consistencies of tomatoes. He mushes several into a paste and then throws in some more chopped ones, then he adds more teaspoons of different spices and throws the pot onto one of the burners on the stove. He turns the burner up to high, and then looks into the spaghetti pot.

The noodles have been cooking in the water for roughly twenty minutes now. He checks with the recipe once more, and notices a tip on the bottom of the page that says to throw a piece of the spaghetti at the wall to test if it’s ready or not. If the spaghetti sticks, then apparently this means it is edible.

He walks back towards the pot and tries to scoop out some noodles with a spoon. He manages to latch on to about ten, then throws them all up at once on the wall beside the dining room table. They splatter across the wall in various positions, but they do indeed stick. He smiles to himself at a job well done, and walks back into the kitchen to turn off the boiling pot.

Now he can deal with the pie. He gets the ingredients together into the bowl, using his trusty cup to measure as necessary, then adds some water. The book specifies that the pie dough should be sticky, but he finds it to be rather hard and difficult to maneuver. He wonders if maybe adding more liquid would solve that problem.

He decides that the book might not always be right, and opts to do what he knows is scientifically accurate. He adds more water until he thinks the dough is easier to manage, then spreads it out into the pie pan. There’s a lot more dough now than what’s needed for one pie, so he trims it and rolls it out again to prepare the top of it.

Once it’s rolled out, he chops up some apples and mixes them together with the ingredients specified in the book, but this time he tastes it as he goes and decides to add more of certain spices until he finds it to be the most enjoyable that it can be. He lays the top dough on top to cover everything, then presses down around the edges to seal it all in. He’ll pop it into the oven once they’ve sat down to eat the first course, that way it’s hot when it comes out.

All that’s left to do is mix together the salad and wait for the meatballs and sauce to finish. He smiles to himself again as he starts pulling down dishes to plate the meal on.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Dean and Sam are sitting in the library together when Castiel comes to find them and tells them that dinner is ready, smile pulled wide across his face in that way that makes Dean’s heart flutter.

“Awesome,” Sam says as he stands up, although Dean can see through it no problem. Castiel grins back at him, unable to see what Dean can, and motions for them to follow him to the dining room. They both reluctantly follow, Castiel turning back to look at them with an excited grin at least three times, each one followed by Sam turning to look back at Dean with an expression that all but screams “help me”.

When they finally get to the dining room, Castiel has already set up plates for them on the table. They both take a seat with a polite smile, watching as Castiel scurries off to the kitchen to get the food. Dean toys with the word “adorable” as he watches him go, smirking to himself the entire time.

He’s roused from his reverie when he hears Sam’s “uhhhhh” from beside him. He turns his head to see what he’s staring at, then he sees it.

An entire pasta dinner thrown up on the wall like some sort of weird art project.

“What the hell?” he asks under his breath, gaping up at the mess like an idiot. Sam reaches up to try and pick a piece off, but when he manages to get it off the wall it pulls the paint off with it. He stares down at the noodle with his mouth open, his eyebrows up at the top of his head.

The next thing he knows, he and Sam are both trying their hardest not to laugh. They’re smothering their mouths with their hands, praying that Castiel doesn’t hear them and questions what’s so funny. They silently agree that this is something that should be addressed delicately, as Castiel can be very sensitive about human-things.

They’ve successfully contained their laughter by the time Castiel returns, a large bowl of salad in one hand and another bowl with spaghetti and red sauce in the other. Dean’s actually quite impressed to see that they look like the things they’re supposed to look like, and he nods his approval as Castiel carefully places the bowls in the middle of the table.

“Wow, Cas,” Sam says, eyes immediately eyeing up the salad. “This all looks pretty good!”

Castiel gives him a small, shy smile in return, a slight blush creeping up on his face. “Thank you, Sam. Excuse me while I go and grab the meatballs.” With that, he disappears back into the kitchen.

Sam immediately turns towards Dean as soon as Castiel is gone. “This actually looks… edible,” he says disbelievingly. “Right?”

Dean takes another look at the pasta and shrugs one shoulder as he smiles. “Looks good to me,” he says, nodding his head again. “Can’t wait to see the meatballs,” he adds as he takes a sip of the bottle of beer in front of him, just in time for Castiel to walk in to the dining room.

“Good thing they’re ready then,” Castiel says from the dining room entrance. Both of the brothers turn their attentions to his direction, and Dean’s eyeballs nearly fall out of his head. He almost spits his beer out at the sight of Cas carefully balancing three meatballs each the size of a baby’s head on a baking sheet.

What the _fuck_.

Sam starts coughing into his fist, an obvious attempt at trying to disguise his laugher when Castiel drops the pan on the table with a small thump. Dean’s biting his tongue hard enough to almost draw blood as he desperately tries to bottle up his laughter deep inside himself for a second time since he sat down tonight.

Sam finishes “coughing” and looks up at Castiel’s anxious smile. “This, err…” he starts, apparently unable to formulate the words he needs. “Wow. Those are, err…”

“Meatballs,” Castiel finishes for him, grinning down at his creation. They’re very black around the outside, and Dean fears for what the inside looks like. “The recipe said it made thirty, but we’re only three people, so…” he trails off and shrugs his shoulders, still grinning from ear to ear as he takes his own seat across from where Dean and Sam sit.

“Okay, dig in guys!” he says cheerfully, gesturing towards the food on the table. They both look at each other and then smile their best fake-smiles at Castiel before filling their plates. Sam fills his plate about half way with salad, a transparent effort to not have enough room for very much “meatball”, and Dean copies him with the spaghetti.

By the time the three of them have filled their plates with the pasta and salad, all that’s left to do is take one of the meatballs. Castiel waits politely for the two brothers to go first, so Dean takes the first leap and carefully stabs his fork into one of the monstrosities. The outer shell is definitely hard, but the inside feels soft. He tries to pull it onto his plate with his fork, but it’s too large and keeps falling off. He ends up just grabbing the meatball with both hands and plopping it on top of the mountain of spaghetti on his plate.

Sam watches, looking mildly horrified the entire time, then copies Dean and grabs the meatball with his hands. Castiel follows, placing it on his plate and gently poking it with his fork.

“I’m afraid I have never eaten meatballs before,” Castiel says, looking confusedly at the lump of charcoaled meat on his plate.

“Yeah. I figured,” Dean can’t help himself from saying, his disgusted expression turning into a smile the second he realizes he said that out loud. “I’m sure they don’t have these bad boys up in heaven, I mean,” he covers, eyes darting between Sam’s glare and Castiel’s bright eyes.

“No, we do not,” Castiel says casually. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what the custom is for eating one.” He looks up between Sam and Dean as if he’s asked a question, and they both clue in that he would like to see them eat theirs first. _Good god._

“You know who’s the best at eating meatballs?” Dean immediately says, perhaps a little louder than needed.

“Dean is!” Sam answers louder before Dean can get Sam’s name out, and he grins triumphantly up at Dean. He can see the “nice try” behind Sam’s eyes, and he grins tightly back at Sam before turning back to face Castiel.

“Yep,” he pushes out, picking up his fork and knife and staring down at the thing on his plate. “Yes I am,” he says, trying to figure out how he’s going to go about doing this. Sam and Castiel wait patiently, and he finally decides to just cut a ragged piece off from the top.

Castiel watches him intently, as if cataloging some sort of meatball eating method. Too bad he’s likely to _never_ see this type of meatball ever again unless he keeps making the himself, but Dean’s not going to say that. He smiles up at Castiel once more before sticking the hunk of blackened meat into his mouth, chewing slowly.

Oh _god._ _Oh my fucking god._

“Mmmmm,” he says, trying not to spit it out onto his plate. “Wow, Cas,” he says as cheerfully as he can manage. He bites down, and the meatball literally _crunches_. He can see Sam grimacing from beside him, knowing that he is going to have to take the next bite. _Good_ , thinks Dean.

The crunchy meat puffs his cheek out like a chipmunk’s, but he can’t convince his throat to swallow this down. It’s hands down the saltiest thing Dean has _ever_ eaten, and there’s enough spice in here to strip his tongue of all taste buds.

Castiel is smiling back at him, pleased as punch, and then looks towards Sam, waiting to see what he will think. Dean turns towards Sam too, smiling a big, meaty grin at him as he waits for Sam to take a bite. He carefully cuts a piece off his own meatball and slowly pulls it towards his mouth, his nose scrunching up as it gets closer and closer to his lips. The hilarity of it is lost on Dean though, as the flavour and crunching of the meat is still happening inside his own mouth to distract him.

Sam closes his mouth around the meat and instantly looks like he just sucked on a lemon. “Mmmmm,” he mimics Dean, trying his best to smile at Castiel, then Dean. “Wow, _so great_ ,” he says through the chewed up meat, his smile so fake that Dean could laugh out loud at how stupid it looks. Too bad he feels like crying right now instead.

Castiel breathes a sigh of relief and smiles down at his own meatball, slicing away a chunk off the top like Dean and Sam both had. He doesn’t hesitate at all as he shoves the meat into his mouth, but two seconds later he’s frowning in disgust and his tongue pops out of his mouth, the meat falling off of it and onto the plate.

“ _Oh god_ ,” he groans, reaching for a napkin and wiping his tongue off with it. Dean and Sam stare open mouthed at the display, both of their mouths still packed full of the meat that they can’t seem to get down their throat.

Castiel spits a couple more times into his napkin, then stares up at Dean and Sam incredulously, like _they’re_ the ones acting like idiots. “Meatballs are _terrible_ ,” he spits out, reaching for his water and rinsing his mouth out with it the best he can.

That’s when Dean and Sam lose it. They both spit out their meatballs onto their own plates and start laughing hysterically, unable to hold back any longer. Castiel is still looking at them like they’re crazy, but at least he doesn’t look offended.

Once they’ve stopped laughing, Dean bites the bullet and looks at Cas, giving him his most supportive smile that he can. “Okay, here’s the thing, Cas,” he says slowly, like he’s walking on glass. “Meatballs don’t really look like… this,” he finishes, prodding at his on his plate with his fork. “They’re usually more the size of golf balls.”

Thankfully, Castiel doesn’t look sad, but he does frown down at the meatball on his own plate. “I see,” he says as he narrows his eyes at it. “I did wonder about that.”

“And,” Sam adds, taking the same careful tone as Dean. “They usually don’t have, err… egg shells. In them. People generally break the egg into the bowl without the shell.”

Castiel looks back up at Sam, his eyes still narrowed as he considers Sam’s suggestion.

“And I’m not really sure what kind of spices you put in here…” Dean says, trying his best to be polite. “But err, maybe that recipe was a-“

“I filled a plastic spoon dipped in tea with allspice, as the book told me to,” Castiel cuts in, still looking highly confused.

Sam and Dean’s eyes nearly bug out of their head. Did the book _really_ say to dip a spoon in… _oh._

“Err… did it maybe say a “teaspoon” of allspice?” Dean asks, biting his lower lip in his mouth to try and keep from smiling at how fucking charming Castiel’s attempt at cooking is. Sam is trying to do the same, both of them watching as Castiel thinks back and then nods.

“Yes, actually, that’s exactly what it sai-“

“Oh _god_ ” Sam blurts out, a huge bark of laughter rattling through his chest as he bends over the table and buries his face in his elbow. “That doesn’t mean… it’s supposed… oh _man_ ,” he cries out through is laughter.

Dean can’t stop his own single laugh as he covers his face with his hands, trying his very best to hide it from Castiel despite the fact that he’s already laughed outright once already. “Cas, I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly, prying his fingers off his face to see the damage that’s been done.

To his surprise, Castiel is smirking down at Sam, apparently just as amused at Sam laughing himself to tears as Dean is. He bites his bottom lip and looks down at his own lap, trying to hold back his own laughter, but one look back up at Dean and he’s forced to release it, and they all laugh together for what seems like twenty minutes.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Alright, so the meatballs were an absolute disaster, and he realizes now he should have just made the 30 that the recipe recommended. Also, the egg thing. Apparently that’s a thing. But besides that, the salad was fine and the pasta was more than fine, so he’s proud of himself. Dean and Sam _did_ enjoy his dinner, even if part of it was at the meatballs’ expense.

He did have to request that they not lie to him about his cooking anymore, though. He appreciates the thought behind it, he really does, but he’s more than able to take criticism when it’s rightly deserved. He wonders if they would have eaten that whole abomination of a meatball if he hadn’t said he hated it himself.

They’re just finishing their pasta and their third beer each when Dean interrupts Sam’s comment on yesterday’s movie pick of “Rocky” by loudly sniffing the air.

His eyes widen a bit and he sniffs one more time, one side of his mouth ticking up to the side as he looks hopefully at Castiel. “Is that what I think it is?”

Castiel can’t help his own smirk and he shrugs his shoulders in mock nonchalance as he turns his attention back to Sam, who’s apparently already lost his train of thought as he sniffs the air too.

“Oh man, don’t tell me you made dessert too,” Dean says, his smirk turning in to a grin as he stands up from his chair.

“No!” Castiel says, standing up and reaching for Dean’s wrist across the table to keep him from looking. “It’s got to be a surprise.”

Dean pouts as he sits back down. “Oh come on, man, we both know my nose is too good when it comes to dessert, and I know _exactly_ what that is.”

Castiel sits down too, quickly checking the clock to see how much longer until the pie comes out. Still another 3 minutes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Dean,” he says playfully. “Now, what were you saying, Sam?”

Sam is smirking himself now, happy to continue rambling on about the movie at Dean’s expense. “Right, well as I was saying…”

They listen to Sam speak for another 3 minutes exactly, and when the second hand on the grandfather clock finally passes the number 12, Castiel bolts up mid-Sam’s-sentence and dashes for the kitchen.

“Excuse me, I just have to retrieve something from the kitchen,” he says politely, but he doesn’t miss Dean’s eye-roll from beside Sam.

He carefully pulls the pie out of the oven and sets it on top of the stove, examining it closely from the top. It looks like other pies that he’s seen, and he’s happy to report that it smells _phenomenal,_ but he didn’t follow the recipe for this one like he did for the rest, so he’s not sure how it’s going to taste.

“I knew it!” he hears Dean exclaim from the kitchen entrance, and Cas tries to turn around as quickly as possible to block Dean’s view of the pie.

“Dean!” Sam yells exasperatedly from the dining room, although he doesn’t seem to actually be getting up to stop him.

“You didn’t think you could hide _pie_ , from me, did ya’ Cas?” he says, grinning as he walks like a man on a serious pie-eating mission towards him and the pie on the stove.

“Dean,” he says firmly, trying his best to be menacing. “Go back to the dining room, _please_.”

“Oh come, on, Cas” he says for the second time in five minutes. “Just one bite, I promise I’ll tell you if it tastes bad,” he adds, reaching to try and stick his finger in the pie.

“Dean, _no_ ” Castiel says, his reflexes better than Dean’s as he catches his wrist and holds it up in the air, then doing the same to the other one when Dean tries to use the opposite hand instead.

Dean’s trying to maneuver Castiel away from the pie so he can get at it himself. “Cas, be cool-“

Castiel returns the favour himself, the two of them almost wrestling over the pie. “No, you have to wait for it to cool, Dean-“

“Oh, come _on,_ you know that’s just for babies-“

“Well you are rather reminiscent of an infant right now, if I say so myself!” he says with a laugh.

Dean laughs with him, trying again to twist his arms the right way to get free of Castiel’s grasp, but Castiel is too quick for him and he reattaches his hands, pulling Dean’s arms between their two chests until Dean stops fidgeting.

“Why do you have to be such a pain in the ass?” Dean asks, still smirking down at him. He’s much closer now, only a foot away from Cas’ face at most, and Castiel can feel his heart’s pace quicken.

He tries to remain calm and collected as he narrows his eyes at Dean. “I never touched your ass,” he says matter-of-factly, which draws out a loud laugh from Dean’s chest, and Castiel can feel it vibrate through him with their arms still tangled together.

Castiel can feel himself grinning like an idiot as he watches Dean laugh, the pie long forgotten, and when Dean’s laughter subdues he smiles back at him, something… _different_ behind his eyes.

The sound of Sam clearing his throat from the entrance causes Castiel to immediately release Dean’s arms and the two of them take a large step away from each other. He can feel his cheeks filling with blood, but he’s intrigued to see Dean’s are quite pink as well.

“Just, err… checkin’ out the pie,” Dean says, awkwardly pointing towards the pie’s direction.

“Right…” Sam says unconvincingly, a tiny hint of a smile played out on his lips as he rolls his eyes and heads back to the dining room.

Dean still looks embarrassed as he turns back towards Castiel. “I’ll just, err… go wait for the pie out there.” Castiel bites his lip to hold back a smile and nods his head, unable to hide the grin that spreads across his face when Dean’s left the room he distributes the pie onto plates.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

He’s carefully trying to balance three plates full of pie as he carries them into the dining room, the smell of it rising in the air and straight into his nose like a slow sort of torture. Sam stands up and takes two of the plates out of his hands when Castiel reaches the table, placing one in front of his brother and the other in front of himself.

“Thank you, Sam,” he says politely, sitting down in his own seat and picking up his fork to take his first bite. He digs it into his pie and brings it up to his mouth, but his mind stutters at the truly pornographic sound that comes from Dean’s mouth.

“Oh, god, _Cas_ ,” he moans around a bite of pie in his mouth, and Castiel can literally feel his heart stopping at the roughness in Dean’s voice. “This is _unbelievable_.”

Castiel is staring back at him, mouth open slightly with the forkful of pie still raised to his mouth. It takes him a while for his mind to jump back on ship, and he blinks away the sudden spurt of… arousal? Is that what that is?

“I thought we were agreed upon that you wouldn’t humor my cooking anymore, Dean,” he finally says in reply.

All he gets in reply is a second moan as Dean takes another bite. “No _really_ ,” he says, mid-chew. “I promise I ain’t lying this time. This is really, _really_ good. I might have to get you to make me pies every day.”

“He’s right, Cas,” Sam says, now with his own bite of pie in his mouth as Dean goes back to making sinful noises while he eats. “Like, actually, this time,” he says with a small laugh.

Castiel takes his own bite, and this time it’s _him_ that moans around his pie. They weren’t lying this time, this is definitely the winner of the evening. He accepts that the dinner portion wasn’t the best that it could be, but he’s absolutely going to let himself feel proud about this one.

He looks back up to agree with them, but he’s caught off guard by the way Dean’s staring at him. Half a second after he catches Dean’s gaze, Dean is trying to act like it didn’t happen and focuses back on the pie on his plate.

The three men eat in their dessert in comfortable silence after that. Sam gets up to clear the dishes, but Dean pulls his plate back towards himself before Sam can grab it.

“Actually, I’m gonna’ have another piece,” he grins at Cas. Sam snorts at that and nods his head, then heads for the kitchen and returns with the entire pie tin.

“Here,” he says, clunking it down in front of Dean. “Might as well save you the trip of having to get up three more times.” He turns back towards the hallway. “I think I’ve gotta’ head to bed though. Thanks for everything Cas, it turned out well,” he says honestly, giving Castiel a warm smile.

Castiel mirrors the smile with one of his own, another small flush of accomplishment pumping through his system. “Thank you, Sam. It was my pleasure.”

Sam curtly nods his head. “’Kay, night, guys,” he says as he disappears down the hallway and behind his bedroom door.

 “So,” Dean says, reaching for the entire pie tin and pulling it between him and Castiel on the table. “How’s about we finish this bad boy?”

There’s still an entire third of the pie left, and Castiel would be satisfied with what he’s already consumed, but then Dean is holding up a fork with one eyebrow raised in invitation, and he decides he can probably fit some more in there.

Dean grins as Cas takes the fork from his hand, and the two of them each start eating right out of the tin. It’s another couple of minutes before anything else is said.

“You did good tonight, Cas,” Dean says, digging in his fork for another bite. “See? You’re not as useless as you thought.”

Castiel gives him a timid smile as he reaches for his own bite. “I will admit that this pie is probably the second best thing I’ve ever handmade.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean asks with a curious smile. “What’s the first?”

“That’d have to be you,” he replies honestly. Dean seems surprised to hear that, his eyes flicking up to meet Cas’ as he digs in for another bite, but then he’s smiling, a sweet sort of _happy_ smile, and Castiel finds he’s not as embarrassed to admit it as he thought he’d be as he returns the smile.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the length of that one, it kind of got away from me. I'm pretty happy with the outcome, though.
> 
> Reviews and comments are always appreciated xx
> 
> -ArticulateFiction


	9. The Driver's License

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel meets Charlie and Dean tries to teach Cas how to drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is, as usual, super fluffy. And Cas get's to meet CHARLIE! And it's sort of reminiscent of my first driving lesson, so I hope you guys enjoy! :)

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

 

CHAPTER 9:

The Driver’s License

 

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

It’s been three full weeks since Castiel became human, and he’s been living with the Winchesters for just over two of them now. It’s given him time to adjust to most daily human activities, such as sleeping, using the bathroom and eating, but there are still many things that Dean feels he needs to teach Cas.

Today he’s made the scary decision to give Castiel his first ever driving lesson. He’d feel a bit better about this if they were still staying at Bobby’s and he could borrow one of his old junkers to take Cas out driving in, but they’re not. The only car available to him is his own pride and joy…

The Impala. His _baby_. Christ.

He hardly even lets Sam drive her, despite the fact that he’s been driving since he was a teenager (although _he_ got his lessons in their dad’s old truck, never the Impala). Dean’s always been very protective of his car and who gets to drive her. He’s fixed her up so many times, spent _hours_ keeping her in the best condition he could manage. The idea of someone else coming along and taking that from him scares him to bits.

But Castiel has to learn how to drive if he’s going to hunt with them. He may not get to drive very often, but in the event of an emergency Dean needs to know that Castiel is capable of driving. Whether it be to drive injured people to a hospital or even driving out to save Dean and his brother from somewhere else or _whatever_ the situation may be that requires Castiel to drive. The fact of the matter is that he can’t heal them anymore, and he certainly can’t fly. Driving is essential to their way of life.

Part of Dean seriously considered stealing a car from somewhere else to teach Castiel, but most cars now a days seem to be automatic, and teaching Castiel to drive anything but a manual seems redundant since the Impala is likely the only thing he’ll ever drive afterwards. Plus, he prefers to not have to resort to automobile theft when he can avoid it.

So it’s going to have to be the Impala. He has no idea what kind of driver Castiel will be, but he’s built his baby from the ground up at least once, and he’ll do it again if he has to. But he’ll take Cas out somewhere isolated, like a back country road or maybe a parking lot of some sort, and hopefully it won’t come to that.

The only thing he needs to do is get Castiel a proper driver’s license made, just in case they get pulled over or something. They haven’t really discussed what identity Castiel is going to go by in the human world, but he can’t just go by “Castiel” or “Castiel, angel of the Lord” or whatever else he’s been called over the years. He needs a proper piece of ID, even if it’s fake, and Dean knows exactly where to get it.

He stands up from the sofa in front of the television and slides his cell phone out of his pocket, careful to make sure Cas and Sam are both still nerding it up in the library before scrolling through his contacts and finding the one he wants. It doesn’t really need to be a secret, but he thinks it’ll be a nice little surprise for Cas if he can hide it until the license is ready for him.

He presses dial and waits through three rings before the call finally connects.

“Good morning, you’ve reached Her Majesty’s castle. How can I help you?” a cheery voice sing-songs over the line as the corner of Dean’s mouth ticks up in an amused smirk.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

The next day, Dean and Sam are sitting in the living room catching up on some television when Charlie finally knocks on the door. Dean grins and bolts up from the sofa, then rushes for the front door to help Charlie bring her stuff in.

He pulls open the door and grins back at her, a large box with wires sticking out of it partially obstructing her own smile.

“Charlie!” he says happily, carefully taking the box out of her arms for her.

“How’s my boys?” she replies, following Dean into the bunker when he nods his head towards the stairs and makes his way down.

“Well, can’t complain really. Sam’s seen better days. We’ve been kind of taking a break,” he says, leading her in to the living room where Sam is still sitting on the sofa.

“Hey, Charlie,” Sam says brightly, hopping up from his spot to give her a big hug.

Charlie returns the hug and grins back at him. “Hey, you. How are you feeling?” she asks, pulling back but keeping both hands on his shoulders as she stands arms-length from him to really give him a once over.

Sam shrugs his shoulders in reply. “I’m okay,” he says, although she doesn’t look convinced. “Thanks for doing this, by the way,” he adds quickly, clearly trying to change the subject.

Charlie, saint that she is, seems to let him. “No problem,” she says, finally releasing Sam from her grip. “Where is he, by the way?” she asks, looking at Dean now for an answer. 

“I, err… haven’t actually told him about it yet. Was hoping it would be a sort of surprise,” Dean says, a faint blush on his cheeks as he realizes how silly that seems. “Think you can keep it quiet until it’s ready?”

Charlie’s smile gets impossibly bigger at that. “Sure, mum’s the word!” she answers, pretending to zip her lips together. “But I will need to take a picture of him in front of a neutral background. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours after that.”

Dean nods his head and turns towards the hallway. “Great, thanks Charlie. I’ll go put this stuff in one of the empty rooms with a desk and then I’ll get Cas. You guys haven’t met yet, have you?”

“No,” Charlie says, plopping down in Dean’s old spot on the couch. “I’m looking forward to it, though. He seems… interesting, in the books...” she adds meekly, knowing damn well that they _hate_ those books.

Sam and Dean both roll their eyes at the mention of them, but Sam sits back down beside Charlie and Dean makes his way for one of the spare rooms without another word. He turns into the first one he finds and places the box down on the empty desk. He takes a couple of seconds to look at everything in there, but the only thing he recognizes in the jumble of wires and cords is Charlie’s laptop and a computer mouse.

He tiptoes out of the room and starts walking towards the library. He knocks twice on the door once he gets there, then pokes his head in the door.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says politely, looking up at him from his encyclopedia. Looks like today he’s reading the “L” edition.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, returning the smile as he steps into the room. “Look, there’s someone I want you to meet. Are you busy?”

Cas’ eyes turn curious at that, and he closes his book and shakes his head. “No, not really,” he says, standing up from his spot at the table and walking towards Dean. “Who is it?”

“A good friend,” Dean says, exiting the room and making his way back towards the living room. “Her name’s Charlie. We’ve talked about her before.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Cas answers from behind him as he follows him down the hall. “Is she in need of your assistance?”

“No,” Dean says, shrugging his shoulders. “I needed _her_ assistance actually. She’s good with computer stuff. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Very well,” Cas answers, although his face looks even more curious than before. Hopefully Charlie doesn’t take very long.

They finally make their way to the living room and find Sam and Charlie both staring intently at the television screen, listening to the narrator talk about alien invasions. Dean gives Castiel an assuring smile and then clears his throat to get Sam and Charlie’s attention. They both turn their head towards Dean and Cas, eyes looking questioning before Charlie finally realizes someone else is in the room with them and stands up.

“Oh, err… hey,” she says, giving Castiel a small, shy wave. “I’m Charlie.”

Castiel gives her a tight smile in return. “Hello,” he says politely, waving his own hand back at her, although he doesn’t look like he understands why he’s doing it. “I am Castiel.” The timber of his voice seems to catch Charlie off guard, and her eyebrows shoot to the top of her head.

“Huh,” she says, pursing her lips together. “He really wasn’t exaggerating when he wrote about your voice being all gravelly and what-not.”

Cas furrows his eyebrows and looks for Dean for explanation.

“Chuck…” Dean says, rolling his eyes again. _Damn that Chuck._

It takes a moment, but then Casitel remembers what this has to do with Chuck. “Oh, right,” Castiel says, his face returning back to his neutral state. A second later, Charlie is standing not even 3 inches away from Castiel’s face, and even Dean feels uncomfortable looking at her.

“ _God_ , your eyes are blue,” she says, her eyes carefully examining every one of Castiel’s features. Cas’ eyebrows are back to the top of his head and he looks very concerned. “Do you mind if I take a picture of you?”

 _Oh god_. So _that’s_ her attempt at being subtle, apparently. Jesus.

Cas’ eyes are wide and he swallows once as he looks to Dean for what he should say. Dean tries to give him the most honest smile he can manage and shrugs his shoulders at Cas, Charlie’s stare sill boring into Cas’ face as she waits for an answer.

“Err...” Cas says, looking torn between trusting Dean and trusting his own instincts. “I suppose, if you feel you mus-“

“Great!” Charlie interrupts, a huge phony smile taking over her concentrated frown as she grabs Cas’ wrist. “We’ll just be in the spare room then,” she says, winking at Dean and then dragging a very worried looking Castiel down the hallway and into the room with all of Charlie’s stuff. The door closes behind them and Dean raises an eyebrow as he turns to Sam.

“That her idea of acting normal?” he says incredulously.

Sam smirks and shrugs his shoulders. “That may be as normal as we get when it comes to Charlie,” he says amusedly, and Dean might have to agree.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

“So,” Charlie says, closing the door behind her after shoving Castiel into the spare bedroom. He looks around and then notices the box of stuff on the desk. “How’s it going?”

Castiel looks back up at her, wondering where in the world Dean found this woman. “Err…”

“You know, with the human stuff. And… stuff,” she tries to clarify as he starts rummaging through the box for something.

“Fine… I suppose,” he finally answers, still wary about trusting her. He knows that Dean and Sam think very highly of this Charlie person, but he can’t help himself for being suspicious of anyone who takes him to an isolated room to photograph him.

“Must be hard,” she says idly, taking things out of the box one by one now as she searches for whatever it is that she’s looking for. “You know, not being able to fly or heal or do all that angel stuff.”

Castiel nods his head at that, because she’s not wrong. “Indeed. But I have a rather wonderful support system through Sam and Dean.”

Charlie smiles sweetly at that. “Yeah, they are pretty great.” She finally seems to find what she’s looking for and pulls out a big white sheet, shaking it open in one big swoosh. “Do you mind helping me pin this up on the wall?”

Castiel’s eyebrows draw together again as he wonders what purpose hanging bed linens on the wall will serve when taking a photograph, but he grabs one corner of it from Charlie’s outstretched hand and follows her lead. They pull the sheet tight across the wall, and Charlie pins in her corner before reaching up and pinning Castiel’s side.

“There, perfect!” she says excitedly, going back to the box and pulling out a camera. “Now, be an angel and stand in front of that wall, will ya’?” she says, looking rather proud of her unfortunate attempt at humor. Castiel just nods his head and does what she’s asked, standing in front of the sheet they’ve just put up.

“Okay, now just stand in that spot and look straight at the camera when I say to, okay?” she says, setting up some sort of stand for the camera to sit on. “So, how have you been handling doing human stuff then?” she asks casually as she works.

Castiel keeps his feet planted where they are and shrugs his shoulders. “It hasn’t always been easy, but as I said before, Sam and Dean have been very helpful.”

“Hmm,” she says, tightening a knob on the stand. “What’s been the hardest thing to get used to?”

“Dealing with my emotions,” Castiel says honestly, and even he doesn’t understand why he’s talking to someone he just met about this. Charlie stops what she’s doing and looks up at him, a sudden flush of sympathy behind her eyes.

“I hear ya’ on that,” she says, standing up straight to straighten the camera she’s put on top of the stand. “Emotions suck. Happiness, sadness…”

“Loneliness…” Castiel adds.

Charlie nods. “Anger...”

“Frustration…”

“Ugh, love…” she says heatedly, putting her eyes up to the lens.

“ _Unrequited_ love,” Castiel appends bitterly without thinking, his eyes widening once he realizes what he’s said.

“ _Exactly!”_ Charlie agrees, her voice full of emotion that could only stem from personal experience. For a few glorious seconds Castiel thinks she might not even realize what he’s said, but he’s not that lucky. He never is.

“Wait…” she says, her head snapping up from behind the camera as her eyebrows crinkle in thought. “ _Unrequited love_? You’ve only been a human for like, what, three weeks now? How could you-“

“I was just adding to the list,” Castiel quickly interjects, hoping she’ll see through his obvious lie.

Charlie gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “No you _weren’t_ ,” she squeals, an amused smile overtaking her mouth. “Oh, angels are _such_ bad liars!”

Castiel frowns at her, because she really has no idea what she’s talking about. “I’ll have you know that angels are some of the fiercest liars around,” he says defensively.

“Aww, Castiel”, she says sadly, her smile gone and replaced with an empathetic frown. “You poor thing.” She runs towards Castiel with outstretched arms and envelopes him in a tight hug before he can even acknowledge her change in tone.

Castiel frowns into her shoulder, but her grip doesn’t seem like it’s going to loosen any time soon. “Why are you hugging me?” he asks grumpily, although he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t secretly enjoying this type of human contact.

“Because you unrequited-love someone and I know what that’s like,” she answers, squeezing him even tighter.

“I never said that I-“

“You didn’t need to say it, you idiot,” she cuts him off. “I’m a girl, I can tell.”

Castiel can feel himself blushing, but he refuses to admit she’s right. “I do not believe that is a standard feature of womankind.”

“Oh, shut up,  yes it is,” she says, finally pulling back a little to frown at him. “You’re spending too much time with the Winchesters. You know hiding your feelings isn’t how _normal_ people deal with them, right?”

 _It isn’t?_ Castiel frowns even harder, but he still says nothing.

“So who is it?” Charlie asks quietly, her eyes still sparkling with sympathy. Castiel has to assume that this is a pain she’s felt herself at some point.

She rolls her eyes at Castiel’s silence and sighs exasperatedly. “You’re not gonna’ make me _guess_ , are you?” He still remains silent and stares at her, hoping it’s a clear indication that he has no intent of discussing this with her. He’d prefer to never discuss it at all.

“Fine,” she says determinedly. “I can hack into government protected computers and steal identities with a few simple computer tricks. You think I can’t figure this out?” She arches an eyebrow at him, but he is adamant about not giving in to this threat.

“Let’s see,” she says thoughtfully, finally letting go of Castiel and walking around the room as one hand strokes her chin. “Well, in the past three weeks that you’ve been a human you’ve seen Dean, Sam, me… oh god, it isn’t me, is it?” she asks, turning on Castiel with a sort of fear that Castiel has to be offended by.

“No,” he says sharply. “We’ve only just met 10 minutes ago. It would be rather reckless of me to start falling in love with any human I cross, would it not?”

Charlie throws up her hands in a defensive way. “Alright, chill,” she says, the fear gone from her eyes. “Well, as far as I’ve heard you guys have barely left the bunker in the past few weeks, and if it’s not me then…”

Suddenly her eyes go wide with realization. “Oh, god.”

Castiel mimics her as his own eyes grow at the thought of her having figured it out. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but whatever it is I can assure you that it’s not what you think,” he lies.

The sadness is back in her eyes as she comes towards him again and wraps him up in another hug, while Castiel still stands in the same spot Charlie had instructed him to stand for the photograph. “That doesn’t even make sense,” she says. “And you poor, _poor_ thing.”

Castiel sighs and rolls his eyes, because she’s clearly not going to let this be. “Which one of them is it?” she asks quietly. “Is it Sam? I mean, he’s undoubtedly the better looking one of the two, but-“

“Well, I wouldn’t say _undoubtedly_ …” Castiel answers a bit more defensively than needed, and _damn it he definitely just gave himself away._

“Dean?” she asks as she pulls away from him, and she looks more surprised than sad now. “It’s _Dean?_ I could have sworn it’d be Sam,” she says, biting her bottom lip in thought as she looks away from him. “Are you _sure_ it’s not Sam?”

“It’s not _Sam_ ,” he answers, rolling his eyes for another time. Sam is a fine person to have as a friend, but it could never be anyone but Dean.

“I see,” she says, and she looks about as defeated as Castiel feels. “You know he, err… likes girls… right?” She’s clearly trying to be as delicate as she can, which Castiel appreciates. But he doesn’t need this spelled out for him, he is very aware of the situation.

“I do,” he replies, his voice strained with emotion. “I do not expect that will ever change.”

Charlie pulls him into another tight hug at that, and this time Castiel reciprocates. He had found her prying rather irritating at first, but it feels nice to have admitted it to someone as compassionate as her. Someone who can share in his pain.

After another minute, she finally pulls back and gives him a sad little smile. “Well, welcome to humanity. It kind of sucks sometimes,” she says jokingly, getting a small smirk out of Castiel as he nods his head.

“Okay, let’s get this picture done and then I gotta’ get to work,” she says, a complete turn in personality as she springs back over to the camera. Castiel still doesn’t know what it is exactly that she’s been asked to do, but Dean had said he’d explain later and Castiel trusts that he will do so.

“Alright, now look at the camera and don’t smile,” she says, bending back down to look through the lens. Castiel just stares at the camera, waiting for her to tell him that the deed is done. A flash of white appears in front of him, causing him to blink his eyes in confusion, but when he looks back at the camera Charlie is smiling at the screen so it must have turned out well.

“Perfect!” she says, giving him a thumbs-up. “You know, you’d be the perfect Spock,” she adds, staring back down at the camera as she says so. “You ever been to comic-con?”

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

It’s been three hours, and Charlie is still holed up in the spare room working on her mysterious project for Dean. Castiel has been patient, waiting for Dean to explain what it is that she’s doing. If it’s regarding a hunt, Castiel feels like he has the right to know about it. But Dean hasn’t said a word about it since Castiel came out of the room and started watching television with him and Sam.

Just when Castiel feels like he can’t take another moment of suspense, Charlie’s voice booms from down the hallway. “Okay, Dean! I think it’s ready. Ya’ coming?”

Dean grins and jumps up from the sofa, not even glancing at Castiel as he shouts back “Coming!” Castiel frowns as he disappears into the room with Charlie, then turns his irritated gaze on Sam.

Sam is still focused on the television, but after a couple of seconds he notices Cas’ stare and his eyes widen. “Dude, what’s wrong?”

“Why am I not being told about things?” he answers angrily. He senses this is more a of Dean thing than a Sam one, but he’d be an idiot to assume Sam didn’t at least know what he was up to.

“What?” Sam says nonchalantly, although he is _terrible at it_. Castiel just stares stonily at him in reply.

“Okay, look,” Sam finally caves, sitting up straight in his spot. “He’s gonna’ tell you, I promise. It’s just a… thing. But any minute now, he’s gonna’ come out here and-“

“Cas!” Dean shouts gleefully, skipping into the living room with his arms behind his back. “Close your eyes,” he says as he stops in front of Castiel’s spot on the couch.

Castiel narrows his eyes at him defiantly. “Not until you tell me what’s going on,” he answers.

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m _trying_. Just… close your eyes, okay? Please?”

Castiel doesn’t really understand why closing his eyes would have anything to do with it, but then Charlie is standing behind Dean and she’s grinning at him in a strange way, and he just really would like to know what’s going on. He sighs once and then reluctantly closes his eyes, waiting to be told when to reopen them.

Warm, slightly calloused hands are then wrapped around his, and a flat rectangular object is placed in his palm. The hands are gone within seconds, and Cas’ eyebrows furrow in confusion as he waits to be told that he can open his eyes. A few more seconds go by before he hears Dean laugh from above him.

“Okay, you can open them now, you friggin’ weirdo,” he says, amusement woven deep within his words. Castiel complies and he opens his eyes, immediately looking at what’s been placed in his hands. A small, rectangle of plastic with an image of Castiel printed on it is staring back at him. There are various pieces of information (presumably about himself) on the card, but the words “Castiel Winchester” in bold, black font are what quickly catch his eye.

“What is this?” he breathes out, still staring down at the word “Winchester” behind his own name. A feeling of hope and warmth is spreading under his chest as he waits for Dean’s answer.

“It’s a driver’s license, dude,” Dean says casually from above him. “You know, a piece of identification. Something to use when you need to I guess.”

Castiel can feel himself smiling, the initial surprise of seeing himself with Dean and Sam’s name transitioning into more of an over-powering happiness. “Castiel… Winchester?” he asks disbelievingly as he smiles up at Dean.

Dean’s smile still lingers, even as he starts to blush and looks away from Cas as he speaks. “Yeah, well… you need a last name, and err, I just thought, you know…” His face is getting redder by the second. “But if you don’t like it we can change it, no problem, right Charlie?” he says hurriedly, snapping his head back to look at her over his shoulder. Charlie’s smirk turns into a scowl at that, but it doesn’t matter.

“No!” Castiel says as he stands up, smile now splitting his face in two. Dean’s surprised expression at the outburst turns back towards Cas, and his eyebrows go up in a silent question. “It’s perfect,” Castiel adds.

The next thing he knows, he’s wrapping Dean up in a tight hug, trying to blink away happy tears. Dean awkwardly returns the hug, clearly embarrassed at the display of affection in front of his brother and Charlie, but he doesn’t stop it either. “There is nothing I would rather identify as,” Castiel says honestly.

He can feel Dean’s arms tighten a bit at that in a gesture that only Castiel will know, but then he’s letting his arms fall to his sides in an attempt to stop the hug. “Alright, alright, man,” he says, slapping Castiel once in the back as he does so. “Come on, no need to get so weird and… ugh, _emotional_.”

Castiel snorts at that and reluctantly releases the hug, looking back down at the license in his hands as Dean takes a step back. Sam is pointedly not looking in their direction, but Charlie is grinning like a giddy little girl. He doesn’t take the time to wonder why that would be before Dean speaks again.

“Any ways,” he says, clearing his throat and then rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to take you out and teach you to drive now that you’ve got one of those. How ‘bout it?”

Castiel is still staring down at the license, smiling to himself as he re-reads the words “Castiel Winchester” over and over in his mind. “Sure,” he says, not really thing about what he’s agreeing to. “Of course, anything you like.”

“Cool,” Dean says, popping in to the kitchen to grab his and Cas’ jackets. “Suit up, then,” he says loudly, pulling Castiel out of his reverie when he throws him his jacket.

“Wait, you’re taking him _now?”_ Sam asks.

“Yeah,” Dean says, shrugging on his leather coat as he grins at Sam. “It’s as good a time as any, right?”

Sam’s eyes widen even more. “What… in the _Impala?_ Am I hearing this right?”

“Well, yeah-“

He’s interrupted by Charlie’s loud gasp, a hand coming up to her chest. “You’re taking him out driving for the first time ever in the _Impala_?” she repeats.

Dean scrunches his face up in annoyance at both of them. “ _Yes._ What’s so wrong with that?”

Sam is practically gaping at him now. “Nothing is wrong with it, it’s just… you won’t even let _me_ drive unless I absolutely have to. And you’re going to let him practice on it? For his first time?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Well, it’s all we have and he’s gotta’ learn,” he answers, grabbing his keys from his coat pocket and making his way up to the front door. “Comin’, Cas?”

“Err, y-yes,” he splutters, quickly stuffing his arms into his jacket as Dean exits the bunker. The realization that he’s about to go practice driving in Dean’s favourite thing in the whole world is starting to settle in on him, and he’s suddenly _terrified._

What if he messes up? And ruins the car? Dean will never, ever speak to him again, he’s sure of it. He’ll take away Cas’ license… Then he’ll just be boring old first-name-only Castiel. No more “Winchester”.  The thought is causing his stomach to feel like it’s twisting and recoiling inside of itself.

He must look more alarmed than he’s realised, because then Charlie is tugging at his elbow. “Cas?” she says, concern and worry filling her eyes as he turns to look at her. “What is it?”

“What if I break it?” he asks, his eyes wide as he imagines the Impala in a ditch or mangled by a tree. “He’s going to hate me.”

“You can say that again,” Sam says heavily. Charlie gives him a glare for that, and he opens and closes his mouth like a fish. “But, err… you know, I’m sure you’ll be great,” he adds. “Just… try really, _really_ hard not to damage his car.” She rolls her eyes at Sam’s pathetic attempt to make him feel better and pulls Castiel into a hug. She really does like hugging, apparently, but Castiel is somewhat glad for it right now.  

“He won’t hate you,” she says assuredly, but even she doesn’t sound entirely confident in that. “Just, try your best. If you make a mistake, it’s okay. We all know he can fix it.” Castiel nods, but he still doesn’t feel much better about it. “And, err… remember what we were talking about before?”

Castiel’s eyes widen at that and they tick over to Sam, hoping he has no idea what they’re talking about. Sam looks intrigued but confused, which is probably a good sign that he doesn’t. Castiel nods into Charlie’s shoulders.

“I think, maybe… people _can_ change,” she whispers, quiet enough that Sam hopefully doesn’t hear. “Or at least adapt new, err… preferences. You know what I’m getting at?”

Castiel pulls back at that and furrows his brow at her, because he _thinks_ he knows what she’s getting at, and he also thinks she’s absolutely crazy for getting at it. If she’s insinuating that Dean is capable of reciprocating his feelings…

“Trust me,” she says, giving him a small smile as she interrupts his train of thought. “I’m a girl, remember?” Castiel bites his bottom lip in thought, but a second later Dean is poking his head through the front door again.

“Cas!” he yells. “Let’s get this show on the road, man!” Castiel gives Charlie a small, hopeful smile, then quickly kisses her on the cheek and takes the stairs two at a time, leaving a mildly flushed Charlie and a completely baffled Sam behind him.

“What was _that_?” Sam asks, narrowing his eyes at Charlie as she turns to grin at him.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll know soon enough.”

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

It’s just after 6, and sun will be starting to set any minute now. Dean’s driven the Impala out to a back-road in the middle of nowhere, so he’s hoping the dark won’t be an issue for Cas later on.

“Okay,” he says, unbuckling himself from the driver’s side and opening the door. “Switch me spots.”

Castiel nods his head in a rather solemn way and unbuckles from the passenger side. They both walk around the front of the car, Dean passing Cas the keys as he does so, and take the other’s seat before buckling in.

Dean spent a solid 20 minutes going over the controls, but he really feels the best way to learn is to feel them out on your own. Castiel knows which one is the gas and which one is the brake, and he did briefly explain switching gears and speed limits. The rest can be dealt with when they come up.

“Alright,” he says, holding his breath as he silently prays to whichever god is willing to listen to him tonight. “Put the key in the ignition and start the engine.”

Castiel stares at him like he’s speaking another language, and his face fills with terror as he stares back at Dean.

“Cas?” No answer. “Cas, buddy what’s wrong?” he asks, reaching his left arm over to shake Castiel’s shoulder.

Cas’ eyes widen as he looks back at Dean. “Dean, I don’t think I can do this.”

“What? Cas, yes you can. You’ve flown across the world and fought monsters for Christ’s sake, there’s no way you’re scared of a _car_.” He can’t even remember the last time he’s seen Castiel look so shaken-up over something.

“That’s… that’s not what I’m scared of, Dean. What if I… ruin it? Get into a collision, or drive into a lake or…?” He’s border-line hyperventilating, and frankly Dean is getting close to doing the same listening to Cas talk like that. “I do not want you to be upset with me.”

“Cas,” he says, rolling his eyes. “First of all, you shouldn’t be so worried. You’re gonna’ be great. And if you ruin the car, well…” he trails, trying to decide how he would react in that situation. “Well, yeah, I’ll be angry. But not forever. Probably for like, a day, tops. Then I’m just gonna’ make you re-build the car with me,” he says, a small smile playing out on his face.

Castiel bites his lip as he thinks it over. “So you’re not going to take away my last name?” he finally asks.

Dean scrunches his eyebrows together as he tries to figure out what in the world Cas is talking about, but then he remembers the driver’s license he gave him and how happy he had been to be called a Winchester. “Never,” he says honestly, his grip on Cas’ shoulder tightening once before releasing. “You earned that. You’re stuck with it forever,” he laughs, his chest fluttering at the relieved smile on Cas’ face.

“Okay,” Cas nods, his spirits seemingly picked up as he faces the road. “Forever it is.”

He places the key in the ignition and turns, the engine roaring to life as he does so. He beams over at Dean, an excited looking smile taking over where a once scared one had been before it, then puts his hands on the wheel in the position Dean told him.

“Good,” Dean says, grinning back at him. “Okay, now we’re gonna’ slowly put the car into drive. Make sure your foot’s on the brake first.”

Castiel nods and does as he’s told, the car rolling forward a couple of inches before Castiel gets his foot on the brake. It’s only a couple of inches, but it’s enough to risk Dean having a heart attack as he reaches out and grabs on to the dashboard and passenger door. Castiel’s eyes widen and he looks over at Dean, waiting to be reprimanded for his mistake.

“S’okay, we’re fine,” Dean tries to assure him, although he may be trying to assure himself right now. “Now, we’re gonna’ start driving. _Slowly._ Okay?” Castiel nods his head, looking a little bit more relaxed but not entirely as his mouth tightens into a line.

Castiel slowly moves the car forward, not going any faster than a couple of miles per hour, and his face relaxes a bit more. He looks at Dean, searching for his approval. “Good, Cas, good,” he says, grinning back at him. “But err, I think you can go a little bit faster.”

Cas nods his head in compliance, and presses his foot all the way down on the gas pedal. The car springs forward and Dean and Cas are both thrown back against their seats at the force of it.

“Cas!” Dean shouts, his left arm instinctively reaching out to grab Cas’ right jacket sleeve. He thinks his life may literally be flashing before his eyes. “Cas, stop, you gotta’ stop!”

Castiel panics and slams on the breaks, sending both of them forward in their seats again as the tires skid along the gravel. It takes a few seconds for Dean’s heart to slow back to a less-lethal rate, the dust around the car settling and the only sound to be heard the harsh breathing coming from the two men inside. He looks over at Cas; his arms are frozen in position on the wheel as he stares with wide eyes at the road in front of them.

“Cas?” Dean asks cautiously. “Look, we’re still fine. The car’s fine. Everybody’s fine.” Castiel turns to look at him, his eyes still wide like saucers. “Just, err. Look we’ll try one more time, and if you get too freaked out we’ll stop. Okay?”

Castiel looks dubious, but he nods his head and focuses back on the road. “One more time,” he agrees, swallowing thickly. He carefully pulls forward, going about 20 miles per hour as his eyes flick between Dean and the road.

“You’re doing fine, man, don’t worry. Keep your eyes on the road, okay?” he says through a smile. The road is relatively straight, but he doesn’t want to risk Castiel swerving off the road just because he’s looking for Dean’s next instruction.

They carry on that way for a few minutes, both of them becoming much more relaxed as they sit in silence. They’re still not going the speed limit though, so Dean suggests they pick up speed and switch it into the next gear.

Castiel does as he’s told, giving it a bit more gas and carefully slipping the car into second gear. He smiles to himself as the car picks up speed, just _barely_ reaching the speed limit now.

Dean grins, enjoying being able to just sit in the passenger seat for once. He looks over at Castiel from the corner of his eye every so often, making sure he’s still okay, but the rest of the time he’s enjoying the Kansas scenery as the sun starts to set, filling the sky with pink and orange.

About ten minutes up the road, Dean notices a slight bend to the left. It’s not a sharp turn, but Castiel is definitely going too fast right now to take the turn.

“Cas,” he says calmly, careful not to spook him again. “Okay, we’re gonna’ slow down, _carefully_ , so we can take this turn up ahead. Just apply the brakes a little bit and switch back into first gear, okay?”

Castiel’s calm demeanor seems to slip as they get closer and closer to the bend. He’s struggling with the gear shift, and there are only seconds left before this turns in to a total disaster.

“ _Cas…_ ” he says firmly. “Cas, you gotta’ switch the gears now. _Now, Cas._ ” _Oh god._

“I-I’m trying, I think it’s stuck-“

“Cas!” _Ohgodohgodohgod._

“Dean! I can’t-”

“Okay, go straight go straight go straight,” he screams, knowing full well that if they take this turn they’re going to flip.

Castiel does as he’s told, the car going straight off of the road once they reach the bend and into the corn field, knocking down stalk after stalk in its path. Dean cringes as each corn stalk causes the car to violently bump around.

“Foot off the gas pedal, Cas! _Foot off the pedal.”_ Oh god, his car, _his fucking car_.

Castiel takes his feet off of all of the pedals, pulls his hands off of the wheel and covers his face with them, a quiet chant of “oh god oh god oh god” under his breath as he waits for the car to come to a stop on its own.

Finally, through some sort of miracle, the Impala finally stops on its own accord, having left an entire 50 yard path of cleared corn stalks in its path. Castiel is peeking through his fingers, and Dean reaches over to the ignition and quickly pulls the keys out, causing Castiel to flinch in his spot.

“Cas, are you okay?” he asks frantically, pulling Cas’ hands away from his face to make sure there isn’t any blood or bruises. He looks fine except for the absolutely stricken face he’s sporting. “Cas? Look at me. _Answer me.”_

Castiel looks up at him, his face twisting with confusion at Dean’s panicked tone. “I-I’m fine…,” he says, looking outside at the front of the car. “I’m fine, Dean. Are _you_ okay?”

He hadn’t even thought to check himself. He lets go of Cas’ hands and looks down at his own body, then checks his face in the mirror. He looks alright, albeit a little bit shaken up, but okay. “Yeah, yeah, no I’m fine. We’re both okay.”

He looks back at Cas who’s still staring out at the front of the car, his eyes full of anxiety. “What about the car?” he asks quietly, avoiding looking anywhere but the hood.

Oh god, _the car_. How could he forget the car? He snaps his eyes ahead of himself, his stomach clenching at what he might find, but he’s surprised to see no visible damage. He lets himself out of the passenger side door, avoiding the stray corn stalks that Cas didn’t manage to take out, and starts inspecting the front bumper.

No dents, no pieces missing, no nothing. Except maybe a couple of scratches in the paint… but besides that, you’d never know what happened here tonight. _Unbelivable._

He can hear Castiel finally getting out of the driver’s side, his face sad as he inspects his side of the car as he makes his way towards the front. He looks up at Dean expectantly, waiting for the verdict.

“Well, Cas,” he says, looking over the front of the car once more. “I don’t know _how_ you manag-“

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Cas interrupts, looking like he’s about to burst into tears. “I’ll help re-build, as promised-“

“The car’s fine, Cas,” Dean says, an amused smile across his mouth. “That’s what I was gonna’ say. I don’t know how you managed to _not_ ruin my baby. She must like you,” he says with a laugh, looking out at the trail of knocked down corn stalks stretching out back to the road.

Castiel’s eyebrows go up to his head in surprise, but then he narrows his eyes at the car and frowns. “Well, I can’t say that I return the sentiment,” he says bitterly. “I could have very well killed us.”

“Nah,” Dean says, even though he’s lying through his teeth and the very thought had passed his mind seventeen times since they turned off of the road. “It’s just corn, no big deal. Better than flipping over if we had tried to take that turn.”

Castiel nods his head in agreement, then heaves a big sigh as he looks up at the sky. “I think, I’d like to take a break from driving. If that is alright with you.”

Dean almost laughs, because there was no way in hell he was letting Cas back behind the wheel of this car today, if ever. “Yeah, that’s alright with me.” He looks up at the dark sky himself, watching the hundreds of stars twinkle against the now black-blue background.

He doesn’t really feel like trying to get the car unstuck from this field yet, and he thinks he and Cas both need a little bit of a breather. “Tell ya’ what,” he says, climbing up on the hood of the car and leaning back against the windshield. “Come here,” he says, patting the spot beside him on the car. “We’ll just chill out for a while. No driving.”

Castiel looks down from the sky and up at Dean, his bottom lip sucked into his mouth as he eyes the spot beside Dean on the hood. He gives Dean a very small smile, then climbs up on the hood and leans back against the windshield beside him.

They sit in silence for several minutes, watching the stars in the sky and relaxing with the warm Kansas breeze. Dean used to sit on the hood of this car with Sam, back when they’d finished a tough hunt or just wanted some time away from their dad. It’s a nice tradition he wishes they’d revisit more often.

“Dean?” he hears from beside him. He turns his head to look at Cas, a bit caught off guard by the way his skin seems to glow under the starlight and how bright and blue his eyes look as he looks up at the moon.

“Yeah, Cas?” he asks quietly.

“I am sorry for running your car into a corn field,” he says sheepishly, turning his head to catch Dean’s gaze. He still sounds sincere, but there’s a faint smile on his lips.

Dean grins back at him, laughing lightly as he thinks about the fact that they’re still in the corn field, taking their sweet-ass time. “I know, Cas,” he says, hitting Castiel’s shoulder with his own.

“You don’t hate me?” Cas asks teasingly, smiling wide back at him. Dean’s still staring at him, the light catching off the white in his eyes in a nearly perfect way, the shadows creating an absurdly beautiful contrast on his face.

“Never,” Dean says quietly, his smile softening as he watches the light play off of Castiel’s skin. Apparently the night turns Dean into a total, romantic sap. “Was more scared for you than the car, really…” he adds, slapping Cas on the knee and resting his hand there as he talks.

Castiel cocks an eyebrow at that. “I find that difficult to believe,” he says, holding Dean’s gaze with his own. The realization that they’re only inches apart strikes through Dean like lightning.

“It’s true,” he says, smile just barely there now. “Can always fix her up if I need to. You, though…”

‘I suppose so,” Cas replies, slowly licking his bottom lip as his eyes dart down to Dean’s mouth, causing Dean’s brain to get fuzzy and his mouth dry. A slight blush colours Cas’ cheeks when he eventually looks back up. “Do you think people can change, Dean?”

Dean furrows his eyebrows at the question, but he nods his head, trying his best to focus on the question and not the way Cas is staring at him with anticipation. “Yeah. Yeah, of course they can. Anyone can change, really. Good or bad. Why?”

He can sense a flush of hope behind Cas’ eyes at his answer. “Good,” he says, nodding his head with a small smile. “I’m starting to think so too.” He turns his head back to look at the sky, but Dean chooses to keep watching him now instead.

This whole thing with Cas is turning him into such a _pansy_ , Jesus, but he doesn’t care. He really can’t find it in him to care anymore. Doesn’t care that he’s a guy, doesn’t care that he used to be a completely different creature, doesn’t care about everything he’s ever done in the past. All he cares about is him and nothing else.

A few seconds go by before Cas says anything else. “Your hand is still on my knee,” he says quietly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Dean’s eyebrows go up and he looks down at Cas’ legs, and yeah, there’s his hand. Oops. “Sorry!” he says hurriedly, pulling his hand away like it’s a hot stove. “Sorry, forgot it was there.”

Castiel’s smirk broadens a bit. “You could put it back, if you like,” he says quietly as he shrugs one shoulder, still staring up at the stars with his hands folded in his lap.

Dean can feel his skin heating up to a boil and he imagines his face is as red as a lobster. He had pretty much figured it out that there was definitely something going on between him and Castiel over the past couple of weeks, and he’s had time to adjust to that. But up until now, he hadn’t been sure if Castiel had any intention of acknowledging their… thing. Their _feelings_. Ugh.

Castiel still says nothing, staring up at the sky like he hasn’t just turned Dean into a human tomato. He looks calm on the surface, but Dean imagines he’s probably getting worried with the way Dean is just staring at him like a deer in headlights, saying nothing. Dean’s sort of worried too, to be honest. He’s usually incredibly smoother than this.

_Do something, Dean._

Cas’ smile is faltering just a bit, and that’s all it takes for Dean’s mind to get back up and running. He instinctively reaches for one of Castiel’s hands in his lap and it pulls it to rest between them, his fingers entwining with Cas’ slightly smaller hand. He watches as Cas’ eyebrows shoot up to the top of his head, and he slowly turns away from the sky to look at their hands resting on the hood of the car.

“This okay?” Dean asks quietly, watching with earnest as Cas’ surprised eyes slowly come back up to meet Dean’s. He looks like he has no words, then he’s nodding his head quickly up and down, a pink tint underneath his skin.

“Okay, cool,” Dean beams, thoroughly enjoying Cas’ adorable blush and the weight of his hand in his own. He leans back to look at the stars, and he can see Cas do the same from the corner of his eye, biting his bottom lip to keep from smiling any bigger than he is.

Dean’s not quite as intent on hiding his smile though.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So obviously I am getting into the more exciting Destiel territory here, and I am not sure how many more chapters I will be posting for this fic. At least a couple more, and I suppose I could add on to it whenever I liked.
> 
> If you guys have anything you would like me to write a chapter on let me know in the comments and reviews, and I'll try my best. Thanks guys!
> 
> -ArticulateFiction


	10. The Shave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam talks with Castiel about feelings, then tries to teach him how to shave. Dean may or may not be jealous. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is somewhat fluffy but also full of important… talks… and stuff. That stuff that we all wish we could just skip but we know we can't.
> 
> That stuff.
> 
> Still some fluff in there for you, though! Enjoy!
> 
> Enjoy! :)

  
\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

 

CHAPTER 10:

The Shave

 

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

There’s something… different. About Dean and Castiel. Something _very_ different. They’re more… comfortable? Close? Sam’s not sure. They’ve always been comfortable and close. It was strange at first but quickly became the norm. So maybe that’s not what’s different, but he’s _sure_ that there’s something different.

This is something new, and yet at the same time something familiar. Something that maybe has been there for a long time and Sam just hasn’t noticed until right this very minute while they’re all sat in front of the television.

He can see them from the corner of his eye, sitting as close as humanly possible beside each other on the couch. This couch can sit 3 comfortably, but they’re so close that there’s enough space between Castiel and Sam to fit a fourth person. They _appear_ to be paying attention to the television, but appearances can be deceiving. Sam can tell just by looking at them that they’re distracted, and based on the way their eyes keep flicking to the other’s, it’s seemingly by each other.

But it’s not distracted in a bad way, it’s distracted in a _good_ way? If that makes sense? He doesn’t really have any concrete proof to back this up, but he’s known Dean all his life and Castiel has been around for years. He’s familiar with their behaviour and there is definitely something going on here. Something must have happened, and whatever it is Sam isn’t in on it.

How long has this strangeness been going on for? As far as Sam is concerned, things between them have been normal. They stand too close together, they’re always in the same room, they’re oddly protective of one another, they graze their fingers together when they’re watching Star Trek-

Wait.

Did that just happen? Did that _really_ just happen?

Is this… is this still considered normal Dean/Castiel behaviour? He’s never noticed _that_ before. But maybe it’s all in his head. Maybe this is-

Again. They just did it again. And now they’re staring at each other.

Oh god, this is so not typical Dean/Castiel behaviour. He _definitely_ would have noticed this before. Sam prides himself in his sharp attention to detail and his ability to read situations in front of him, and he has never noticed his brother casually touching their best friend’s hand like this. Not that Castiel seems to mind.

 _God_ , he can literally feel himself transforming into a third wheel on his end of the sofa and everything is so painfully obvious now. He needs to get Castiel alone, because despite him being almost as emotionally stunted as Dean, he’s still a better bet.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

“I’m goin’ to the store. Need me to pick up anything in particular?” Dean asks gruffly, throwing on his leather jacket and grabbing the keys off the living room coffee table.

“Nah, I think I’ve got everything I need,” Sam answers, eyes still trained on the television.

Dean shrugs his shoulders and makes for the stairs. “Suit yourself,” he throws over his shoulder as he walks out the door. A few seconds later the sound of the Impala roaring to life can be heard through the walls, and Sam’s bolting up from the sofa and heading for the library.

He’s been waiting for an opportunity to talk with Cas on his own all day, but it’s not so easy when he’s practically glued to his brother’s hip. He wanders in to the library and finds Castiel buried in an encyclopedia, which seems to be the best place to find him when Dean isn’t around.

“Hey, Cas,” he says eagerly, taking a seat across from him.

Castiel looks up from his book and gives Sam a warm, welcoming smile. “Good evening, Sam.”

“Mm, it is, isn’t?” he replies, returning Castiel’s smile with one of his own. “Which is why I was thinking maybe we could go do a bit of target practice. You up for it?”

“Target practice?” Castiel asks cautiously, slowly dog-earing the corner page of his book and lowering it to the table.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “You know, with guns. We’re gonna’ have to get back on the hunting bandwagon _eventually_. I could use a bit of de-rusting, and you’re gonna’ have to learn how to use guns if you want to hunt with us.” There’s only so much a knife can get you when you don’t have angelic powers to back you up.

Castiel seems to consider this, then nods his head and rises from his seat. “Very well,” he agrees. “I suppose some practice would be beneficial. Lead the way.”

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Sam takes Cas out to the empty field behind the bunker. Him and Dean haven’t practiced out here for a while, but there are still all kinds of things set up at a proper shooting distance that he and Cas can practice on. Empty barrels, cans on an old desk, and a rather large assortment of empty beer bottles.

He gives Castiel his gun and quickly goes over how to use it, careful to emphasize the safety mechanism on it. He lets Cas take the first few shots, but the grunts of frustration coming from Cas tell him that he’s not enjoying it very much.

“I would really much prefer to use a knife,” he says grumpily, lowering the gun and switching spots with Sam as he passes it to him.

“I know,” Sam says sympathetically, taking his stance and pointing the gun at one of the beer bottles. “But a knife can’t always do the trick. You’ll get used to it.” He pulls the trigger, but he misses the bottle by a couple of inches. He’s a bit rustier than he had thought. He lines up another shot and holds his arms steady, then pulls the trigger for the second time. This time the bullet sails right through the bottle, shattering it into a hundred pieces all over the grass around it.

“See?” he says, smiling big at Cas as he holds out the gun for him to take again. “We just need some practice.” Cas gives him a tight, polite smile in return and takes the gun back out of Sam’s hand.

They carry on in silence for a few minutes, taking shots and switching places. Eventually Cas starts hitting things, and his mood seems to pick up a bit. Sam’s always been a firm believer in “practice makes perfect”.

He’s aware that he only has a limited amount of time alone with Cas before Dean gets back from the store, so he forces himself to pick up enough courage to ask Castiel the questions that have been on his mind for hours.

“So,” he starts, watching as Castiel lines up his next shot. “There’s, err… actually something I wanted to talk with you about.”

Castiel takes the shot and misses, lowering his arms as he passes the gun back to Sam. His face twists with intrigue as he trades places with Sam. “You know you are welcome to speak with me about anything, Sam,” he says calmly, watching Sam as he gets ready for his turn.

“I know,” Sam replies, bringing his arms up to point the gun where he wants it. “Which is why I’m coming to you about this instead of Dean.” He pulls the trigger and perfectly shatters another beer bottle.

“Oh…” Castiel replies, sounding weary about talking behind Dean’s back. He’s nothing if not loyal to Dean, that’s for sure.

“I’ve just noticed you guys have been a bit… different, lately,” Sam says carefully, lining up his next shot. “You know, closer and err… touching, and stuff. Like, more than usual.”

“ _Oh_ …” he hears Cas say quietly from beside him. He pulls the trigger and misses.

“Yeah…” Sam says, just as quietly. He lowers his arms and turns to face Cas, turning the safety on the gun on and keeping it in his grip. “I just… I have to ask. Is there, err… something going on, between you two?”

Castiel looks down at his feet, awkwardly switching from one to the other as he bites his bottom lip. “I’m unsure, to be honest.” He sounds pensive, but not upset in any way. “Do you think there is?” he asks, his head rising from the ground to meet Sam’s worried expression.

“Honestly,” Sam says, rubbing the back of his neck as he talks, “I hadn’t really thought anything of it until recently. Do you, you know… _like_ him?” He can feel his cheeks heating up with embarrassment. He might be more willing to have these types of conversations than his older brother is, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys them any more than him. “And we both know you know that I don’t just mean _like,_ I mean… _like_ like.”

Castiel stays silent for a minute before lowering his head and staring at his feet. “If you are referring to _love_ , then the answer is yes.”

Leave it to Cas to be straight to the point. “Okay…” Sam says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck again with one hand. He’s at a loss for words here. He doesn’t want Cas to get hurt. “I, err… don’t know what to say to that. I don’t… have you considered that Dean doesn’t, you know…”

“Yes,” Cas says carefully, bringing his eyes back up to Sam’s. “I have considered it. I’ve considered that I am a man. I’ve considered that I want a relationship, not a one-night stand. I’ve considered that Dean has never shown significant interest in either of those things.” Sam nods his head in sympathy as Cas speaks. “But… recent events, leave me believe that maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe I can be an exception…”

Sam internally cringes at the sound of hope in Cas’ voice and the small smile that tugs at his lips as he looks out at the skyline. He knows the feelings that Cas is experiencing, and he knows what it’s like to lose the person you love. He doesn’t want to see that happen to Cas when Dean turns him down.

“Not to sound like a downer here, man, but what makes you think you’re an exception?” he asks softly, careful not to sound too harsh.

A small smirk tilts the corner of Cas’ mouth as he looks back down at the ground before he talks. “Well…” he says, failing to meet Sam’s gaze, “we did hold hands.” He looks about as bashful as a kindergartener admitting he has his first crush. “And we have been spending more time together. Alone…”

“You _held hands?_ ” Sam asks incredulously. “Like, on purpose?” He’s finding it difficult to imagine Dean holding hands with anyone, let alone Castiel, his very male and very supernatural best friend.

“Well I assume it was on purpose, seeing as he asked my permission first,” Castiel says confusedly, finally bringing his eyes back to Sam’s.

Sam’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his head, because _that_ is surprising to hear. The fact that Dean initiated this and even asked Castiel if it was okay. It’s all rather… domestic. And totally not like Dean at all.

And, again, since when? Since when does his brother like to touch people’s hands and stare longingly into their eyes like a fairy-tale princess? Let alone _a guy’s_ eyes. Not that Sam has anything against that, but as far as he knows Dean’s never shown any interest in guys before.

And this is _Castiel_. Dean’s best friend. What the hell is he thinking here? Because Sam’s never seen him think about anything past a one-night stand. Castiel doesn’t know any better, and Sam’s sure as hell not going to let Dean lead Castiel on if he’s not serious about this. Nobody deserves that.

“He’s not, like, you know… just trying to get… _you know..._ ” he asks awkwardly, again trying to be as gentle as possible as he squeezes his eyes shut tight.

Cas shakes his head. “He hasn’t pushed for anything else,” Cas says firmly. “I have considered everything, Sam, trust me. I appreciate your concern for me, but I too have no interest in seeing myself get hurt over this. I have put much thought into this, and I truly feel like I’m not alone in this want.”

The more Sam thinks about it, the more it seems like maybe Dean could finally be interested in something more important than one night of sex with a total stranger. He’s apparently willing to overlook the whole “Cas is a dude” thing, which is saying a lot about whether or not he cares more about the person Castiel is, not the gender. That’s gotta’ mean something, right?

Cas is staring back at him now, concern flooding his face as he waits for Sam to say something. He gives Cas a small, reassuring smile and nods his head. “You know I just want what’s best for both of you, right?” Cas nods his head, the concern leaving his face and replaced with content. “Good. And I do really hope you get what you want, Cas. You both deserve to be happy.”

He’s still not sure what Dean’s motives are behind this, and he’s going to have to talk with Dean on his own. Which sounds about as fun as a root canal, but Cas clearly has expectations of where this relationship is going, and Sam isn’t going to let his brother ruin Castiel’s faith in him over something as ridiculous as Dean being desperate to get laid. A large part of him likes to think that Dean would never do that to Cas if he knew he was doing it, but there’s no telling whether or not he’s aware of Cas’ feelings on this.

The two friends smile at each other once more as Sam tucks the gun back into its spot in the back of his pants. He turns back to Castiel, who’s absently scratching at the whiskers on is chin as he stairs into the now setting sun. He looks rather uncomfortable as he scratches himself, and it’s then that Sam realizes that Cas is sporting a beard nearly a centimeter long.

“Hey,” he says, an idea popping into his head. “How about we teach you to shave?”

Castiel stops scratching and turns wide eyes on Sam. “Right now?”

“Yeah, why not?” Sam beams at him, grabbing him around one shoulder and pulling him back to the bunker. “No better time than the present, right?”

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

 Dean comes home to find the living room devoid of all life (not that you can hardly call what Sam and Cas do in the living room… well, _living_ ). He drops off the groceries in the kitchen, looking for any sign as to wear his brother and best friend have gone. His best bet is the library, since that’s where most nerds like to hang out, so he makes his way down the hall.

He turns into the library, but doesn’t find anyone in there. He checks Sam’s room next, but he’s not in there either. Deans’ starting to get worried now, but he tries to remain calm. He’s sure he’s just overreacting.

He continues down the hallway, intending to check Cas’ room next, but the sound of Sam’s voice carrying from the bathroom keeps him from getting any further. The door is open so he stands in the doorway, and there’s his brother and Cas both standing in front of the mirror, razors in their hands and shaving cream covering their chins. Cas looks like he hasn’t actually shaved anything yet, but he’s watching closely as Sam demonstrates on his own face.

A tight twist of jealousy causes his stomach to flop as he watches Cas watch Sam. Don’t get him wrong, he’s happy to see Sam and Cas spending time together and getting along as well as ever, but Dean really wanted to be the one to teach Cas this step of humanity. Although he can’t say he has any reason beyond wanting to stand close to Cas while he teaches him.

Eventually Sam finishes shaving his own beard, and neither he nor Cas have apparently noticed Dean lurking in the doorway yet.

“Alright, now you try,” Sam says eagerly, rinsing his own face off in the running water. Cas looks dubious, but Sam’s head pops up out of the sink and he gives Cas a reassuring smile. “Trust me, man, it’s really easy. You got this.”

Cas nods his head and turns his face back to his own reflection in the mirror. He holds his breath and tilts his chin up towards the light, carefully raking the razor down one side of his chin. The razor glides without a problem, and Cas smiles to himself before quickly searching for approval in Sam’s face. As he turns towards Sam, however, he catches his skin on the razor, causing a gruff “ _Ow_ ” to escape his throat as he snaps back to his own reflection in the mirror to see what he’s done.

“Shit,” Sam says, grabbing some toilet paper from the roll to use for the small amount of blood that’s starting to blot on Cas’ chin. Cas is frowning at himself, the razor forgotten on the counter as he leans in to the mirror to get a better look at the cut.

“Here,” Dean says, finally making his presence known as he strolls in to the bathroom and takes the square of toilet paper out of Sam’s hand. “I’ve got this. You’re not the best teacher, Sammy. Go watch your television.”

Sam furrows his brow and rolls his eyes, but he does head for the door. “Whatever, just don’t blame me when you come out with a beard of tiny toilet paper squares, Cas,” he teases, quickly turning down the hall before Dean can launch the rest of the toilet paper roll at his stupid sarcastic head.

He huffs a small laugh as he turns back to Cas, who’s now turned with his back leaning against the sink so to face Dean. He rips a tiny square of toilet paper and sticks it to the cut on Cas cheek, suddenly very aware of how intimate this is. He can feel Cas’ breath on his skin like a warm night’s breeze, and it’s very… relaxing.

Once he’s got the toilet paper in place, he reaches behind Cas and grabs the razor off the spot where he had set it down on the counter. “Wanna’ try again?” Dean asks quietly, holding the razor up between their two faces.

Cas looks wearily at the razor in Dean’s hand, then quickly shakes his head no as his eyes crawl back up to Dean’s. “I’d rather not,” he says honestly.

“Well you can’t just walk around with one line shaved in to the side of your cheek, man,” Dean says with a grin. “Mind if I…?” he asks, motioning with the razor to Cas’ face. It really would be rather awful of him to leave Cas like this…

Cas doesn’t hesitate as he nods his head in agreement. “Please,” he says quietly, the intimacy of the whole situation increasing tenfold. Dean nods his head and steps in a bit closer, standing just between Cas’ slightly spread legs.

He lines the razor up on one side of Cas’ cheek, his eyes darting to Castiel’s once to double check that he’s okay with this before finally bringing it down in a clean stroke, all the way to the bottom of Cas’ neck. He gives Cas a victorious smile as he lines the razor back up beside the line he’s just made, Cas returning it with a shy smile of his own.

He swipes the razor down his cheeks a few more times, rinsing the blade out after every couple of strokes under the running water behind Cas. Each time he reaches for the spray he can feel the warmth of Cas’ body heat, and it reminds him of how close he and Cas really are. When he’s finally ready to do the tricky parts on the chin, he gently grips Cas’ jaw in the hand he isn’t wielding the razor in and turns it in the directions he needs it to go. Cas is pliant underneath him, completely trusting Dean to turn his head as he wishes, not even flinching as Dean strokes the razor down his face and over veins over and over again. Cas’ eyes never leave Dean’s face as he works, and it fills him with wonder to see how much trust Cas places in him.

When he’s finally gotten to the last part, the small bit under Cas’ bottom lip, he turns Cas’ face back to look straight at his own, his fingers staying in place on his face as he brings the razor up to Cas’ chin. “Okay, now go like this,” he says quietly, sucking in his bottom lip to make the skin underneath it taut and pulled smooth. Cas does as he’s told, sucking in his bottom lip as Dean carefully shaves off the last bit of Cas’ beard.

Dean grins at him as he rinses off the razor for the last time, then grabs the washcloth beside the sink and runs it under the water for a second, still standing dangerously close to Cas between his legs. He brings the washcloth up to Cas’ face and goes over the skin there, wiping away any excess shaving cream that’s still hanging around. He also removes the tiny piece of toilet paper from the cut Cas gave himself, happy to see the small cut has stopped bleeding and is already starting to seal up.

Cas watches in silence the entire time, his eyes continuously flicking between Dean’s mouth and his eyes. They’re only a couple of inches away now as Dean’s fingers linger on Cas’ cheek, gently stroking the newly shaven skin.

“There,” he says, his voice a bit rougher than he had intended. “All smooth.” He wants more than ever to just lean in and take what he and Cas have been tiptoeing around for a while now, and really, what’s stopping him? Why shouldn’t he take what he wants? What he’s wanted for a lot longer than he had realized? He’s certain that Cas wouldn’t have any resignations at all if he did, and judging by the way he’s staring at Dean’s mouth Dean’s gonna’ guess that he wants it just as bad as him.

He can feel himself slowly leaning in closer and closer, his mouth a mere inch from Cas’, and he’s _so close_ …

And that’s when Sam clears his throat from the doorway.

He and Castiel both jolt away from each other at the sudden intrusion, Cas straightening up and causing Dean to move back a couple of steps to give him space. Sam’s looking between them, clearly very aware of what he’s just interrupted, but he doesn’t look entirely too broken up about it.

Fucking, Sammy Cock-block Winchester strikes again. God dammit.

He should be more embarrassed for being caught than irritated that he was interrupted, after all, he hasn’t mentioned any of this to Sam yet. But he’s never felt colder than when Cas steps away from him and goes to the linen closet to grab a towel to wipe his face. He turns his head to glare at Sam, but he’s surprised to see that Sam’s beat him to it.

And he does _not_ look pleased.

“Dean,” he says firmly, “can we _talk_ in my room?” Cas looks between him and Dean nervously, his cheeks still flush with uncharacteristic embarrassment at being caught in such a state of intimacy. “ _Now,”_ Sam reiterates, pulling Dean’s attention back to him as he heads down the hallway for his room.

Dean flinches and follows, giving Cas a small apologetic smile as he leaves him alone in the bathroom to go follow his gigantic brother, and closes Sam’s bedroom door behind them.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

“You wanna’ tell me what the hell’s going on?” Sam throws out harshly the second Dean’s shut the bedroom door behind him.

Dean turns an equally irritated expression towards Sam when he turns away from the now-closed door. “ _Excuse me?”_ he asks defensively. “How about _you_ tell _me_ what’s going on,” he adds, shoving a finger into Sam’s chest.

Sam swipes his finger away easily, refusing to back down from Dean’s attempt at intimidation. Sure, he may have ruined his and Cas’ moment back there, but he told himself he’s not going to let Dean hurt Cas like this, and he meant it. “Fine,” he spits out. “I’ll tell you what I _think_ is going on.” Dean rolls his eyes as Sam speaks. “What I _think_ is going on is that you’re about to ruin the best relationship you’ve ever had outside of the family.”

Dean scoffs, his arms coming up across his chest as he stares Sam down. “ _Really._ Is that what you call that? Because last time I checked, I was gonna’ make everything better between us. We _need_ this.”

Sam’s a bit taken back by complete lack of attempt to deny any of this, but he rolls with the punches as they come. “How is taking advantage of how much Castiel clearly likes you going to make things better between you guys, _Dean?_ Trust me when I say that he doesn’t want the same things that you do. It’s not fair to him.”

Dean looks surprisingly hurt for a second, but then the ire is back behind his eyes. “How the hell do you know what _I_ want, Sam? Who says we don’t want the same things?”

Now it’s Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “Oh yeah, because you’ve always been so interested in a long-term, assumingly permanent relationship with another man, right Dean?”

Dean chuckles darkly at Sam’s sarcasm and rolls his eyes again. “Because Dean Winchester isn’t allowed to have anything more meaningful than a one night stand, right?” His face falls back to Sam’s, and there’s suddenly so much pain behind his expression that Sam almost feels bad. “All he cares about his sex. Because Dean Winchester doesn’t deserve to be happy. Dean Winchester can’t realize that everything that could make him happy has been under his nose this whole time. Because Dean Winchester is such a man’s man that he must have no idea what feelings are and he can _never_ have them of his own.”

Sam is speechless as Dean turns on his heel, growling in his throat as he reaches for the bedroom door to leave. He’s obviously not expecting Sam to reach out and pull him away from the door as quick as he does though, and Sam can feel his apology bubbling out of him like their broken washing machine on the rinse cycle as the words “ _you’ve made a colossal mistake, you colossal idiot”_ ring through his mind.

“Look, I didn’t mean- I mean, I didn’t mean that you _can’t_ want those things, I just meant…” he says hurriedly looking around the room as he wills the right words to come to him. “Well you just have literally _never_ said you wanted that before. Especially not with a guy… I just had to be sure that you weren’t just-”

“I would _never_ intentionally hurt Cas that way,” Dean says thickly, tuning his head to the side as he huffs air out of his lungs like a bull.

_Cas was right, Cas was entirely correct and Sam sucks._

Sam rolls his eyes for the tenth time in two minutes and sighs. “I had to make sure for Cas. He’s my friend too, you know. He doesn’t deserve to be led on when it’s obvious how much he likes you.”

Dean is still glaring at him, but one eyebrow goes up in a silent question. His face does seem to soften slightly after a few seconds, though. “Okay, so maybe you have good reason for assuming the worst,” he says awkwardly, a rare admittance that he might have been wrong.

“Yeah,” Sam laughs, feeling the tension in the room evaporate. “And the whole, Cas is a dude thing…”

“I know,” Dean says, shutting his eyes and rubbing his face with his hand. “Okay, yeah I’ll admit that’s new to me too.” The hand drops and he glues Sam with a more serious look. “But I ain’t playing around here, Sam. Not this time.”

Sam nods his head and gives him a tight smile, the guilt from earlier gone with the tension. “Good,” he says honestly. “That’s really good, Dean. Then I’m happy for you. Both of you.”

Dean blushes a bit and turns away from Sam’s gaze, back to the door. “Good,” he agrees, opening the door to leave. “But, err… cock-block me one more time and see what happens, Sammy,” he says seriously, turning his head over his shoulder to glare at Sam. “I fucking dare you.”

And with that he’s gone, leaving Sam alone in his room, mouth gaping open and closed like a fish.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A somewhat shorter chapter to tide you over until my next one is finished. Expect more Destiel fluffiness in the next chapters to follow
> 
> Thank you everyone for the comments and kudos! Makes me smile to see them in my inbox :)
> 
> -ArticulateFiction


	11. The Common Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel gets a cold, Dean takes on the role of nurse, and Sam stays as far away as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> Here’s the chapter a few of you have been waiting for. Lots of fluff for you guys here.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

 

CHAPTER 11:

The Common Cold

 

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

It’s been a couple of days since Dean admitted his feelings for Castiel to Sam (right after Sam interrupted a “moment” Dean and Cas were about to have, the fucking jerk that he is).

Having said it out loud to someone, even if it wasn’t Castiel, has really taken a lot of the stress and nervousness out that the whole situation. He had come to the realization of his feelings within a matter of weeks, and it had obviously freaked him out at first. After a while though, it was something he determined made more sense than anything else in his life ever had, and it would be stupid to deny himself something that would make him truly happy over some hang-ups on gender or whatever other silly little reasons.

Still, he did occasionally second-guess his decisions and actions, and this was no exception. Having been able to admit it to Sam, though, that really solidified it for him. This was what he wanted and this was what was best for him (because if basically admitting to your brother that you wanted to be in a gay relationship with an otherworldly being wasn’t enough to prove that, nothing was).

His plan had been to find Castiel again after being so rudely-interrupted and continuing where they left off, but Cas had already gone to bed for the night with his door closed (thank you, _Sam…)._ It was alright though. He’d get another chance, and he was willing to wait.

Flash forward to now, however, and he was thinking he might be waiting a bit longer than he had anticipated…

You see, the next day following the almost-moment between him and Cas, Sam had convinced Cas to come with him to a diner twenty minutes away to get breakfast when Dean didn’t wake up early enough to make anything. Dean woke up to an empty bunker with a note on the table saying they had gone to get breakfast but would be sure to bring something back for him. Apparently making breakfast for themselves is not an option, because who the fuck knows.

He had been jealous at first, jealous that they got to eat breakfast without him while he stayed behind and ate alone. But then they came home complaining about the old, wrinkly waitress who was constantly sniffling and rubbing her snot on the backs of her hands, and who was about as pleasant as someone with a cactus launched up their ass. Suddenly Dean didn’t feel so bad about having been left behind. He ate his breakfast out of the Styrofoam container they brought back for him and listened to their complaints with a smug smile on his face.

And this is how he’s gotten to today, the day after their diner trip, with a sniffling and coughing Castiel sitting beside him on the sofa.

To say that Cas was confused about his first ever sneeze would be an understatement. The guy nearly _cried_. He had been sitting there, lazily watching television with Sam and Dean, and then he just sneezed, followed by a sharp gasp and horrified eyes. Apparently that’s not something he’s ever done before.

After a few patient minutes and a basic biology lesson from Sam to calm him down, they carried on watching television. Cas sneezed a second time. Then a third. Then a fourth and a fifth. And then Sam left the room, reappeared with a box of tissues, and promptly stated that he’d be barricading himself in his bedroom until further notice that Cas was over his cold.

The look Cas had given him as Sam calmly vacated the room reminded Dean of a movie character just being told they had a week to live. _Sheer terror._

“Dean?” he asks nervously.

Dean gives him a small, sympathetic smile and pats him once on the shoulder. “Looks like you might have caught a cold, buddy,” he says, lifting his hand from Cas’ shoulder to his forehead. The heat emanating from him is somewhat alarming considering how cold the bunker always is. “Yeah, definitely a fever.”

Cas’ eyebrows go up to his head as he listens to Dean’s best attempt at a diagnosis. “What should I do?” he asks sadly, eyes turning from panicked to devastated.

“Just… take it easy, I guess,” Dean answers, finally lowering his hand from Cas’ forehead. “It doesn’t seem like it’s a particularly nasty cold, so the best we can hope for is that it won’t get worse.”

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Being lit on fire. Drowning in a deep, dark ocean. Having your limbs ripped off one at a time. _Death_. All of these are things that Castiel would describe as a better experience than the common human cold. Dean was wrong when he said that this wasn’t going to be a big deal. He is a dirty _liar._ This is single-handedly the worst thing Castiel has ever experienced.

“This is single-handedly the worst thing I have ever experienced,” he says bitterly to Dean, blankets pulled up to his chin and a wet cloth on his forehead – and wow, does his voice really sound like that right now? It sounds like he’s been screaming at the top of his lungs for hours and his voice has given up on itself.

Dean rolls his eyes and tucks the blanket in tight around his sides. “You’ve _died_ before _,_ you big baby,” he says fondly.

“I stand by my previous statement,” Cas says stubbornly. If he finds himself in hell after death, surely this will be his torture. Nothing more is needed.

“Well, we’ll get a couple of spoonful’s of this in ya,” Dean answers, shaking a dark bottle in his hand, “and then you’ll be knocked unconscious for a couple of hours. That should distract you for a while.” He lifts the bottle to a spoon in his other hand and carefully pours some of the hideous-looking liquid onto it. He holds the spoon up to Cas’ mouth and says “Here, open up and swallow.”

Cas doubts this foul smelling concoction will be able to help the painful sensation thrumming through his throat each time he swallows, but he does as he’s told and closes his mouth around the spoon. It only takes about half second to immediately regret having done so.

Oh _god._ _This is worse than his cooking._

He scrunches his face up and shutters at the truly offensive taste and barely manages to swallow the medicine down while Dean watches and laughs. He’s still smacking his lips together and willing the taste to get out of his mouth when Dean starts filling up a second spoonful.

Castiel’s eyes widen in terror as Dean sets the medicine bottle down and brings the second spoonful towards his mouth. “ _Dean_ ,” he begs, shaking his head violently from left to right. “Please, _no._ ”

Dean rolls his eyes and brings the spoon even closer. “Cas, come on, man. You’re being a huge pussy right now. It’s not that bad.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at him at the obvious lie. “If it’s not so bad then why don’t _you_ have it?” he asks defiantly.

“Because I’m not the one who’s _sick_. Come on, open up,” Dean says sternly, the spoon a mere centimetre away from Cas’ mouth now.

 _“Never,”_ Cas growls, shaking his head no and sucking his lips in tight. He is _not_ enduring that again.

Dean’s eyebrows furrow and he brings the spoon to touch Cas’ lips. _“Cas,”_ he answers, starting to sound frustrated. Cas’ will resilient though, and he keeps his lips sealed as tight as they can be. Dean tries his best to pry Cas’ lips open with the spoon, and then Cas has his hands around Dean’s wrist as he tries to fight him off.

“Cas, you’re being ridi-”

“Dean, _no-”_

“It tastes awful and it works, now open _up,_ Cas-”

“I am not above biting you, Dean-”

“Okay, _fine,”_ Dean shouts, untangling himself from Cas’ hands as he pulls back and lowers the spoon. Castiel smiles smugly at him at his victory, but then the next thing he knows Dean has two fingers pinched around Cas’ nose to stop him from breathing out of it. _Sneak son of a…_

Cas sees where this is going and keeps his mouth shut tight, disobediently glaring at Dean as he does so. It’s a losing battle though, and Dean just waits patiently with a cocked eyebrow for when Castiel can’t help but open his mouth to breath. Not even a second after the inevitable, Dean has the spoon in Cas’ mouth and the awful tasting liquid is running down his throat.

“There,” Dean says cockily as Castiel splutters. “That should do you in for a few hours.”

Castiel gives him his best smiting look and reaches for the glass of water to wash away the taste. “That liquid is an abomination of God,” he hisses.

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll be happy when it starts to kick in, trust me,” Dean answers, rolling his eyes as he takes the empty glass from Cas’ hands. “I’ll have some soup ready for you when you wake up. Sound good?”

“Soup?” Castiel answers, starting to have to fight to keep his eyes open. He’s not sure if that’s due to the cold or the medicine. Perhaps both. “Why soup?”

Dean seems to ponder this for a minute, but eventually he shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. “You know what? I have no idea,” he says, a smile playing on his lips. “It just makes you feel better when you’re sick.”

“That doesn’t sound very scientifically accurate,” Castiel answers dubiously. He doubts that soup has some unseen power to cure any ailment it pleases.

“Well, maybe not. But you ask anyone else in the world, and trust me, they’ll tell ya’ the same,” Dean answers, still smirking down at Cas.

“I don’t know anyone else in the world, so I guess I will have to take your word for it,” Cas says quietly, his eyes winning the war and closing against his will. “Thank you, Dean,” he adds sleepily. Because despite Dean forcing that horrendous stuff into him, he is still caring for Castiel when he could be doing other things, and for that Castiel is grateful.

He hears Dean huff a laugh before feeling the man’s hand gently stroking the hair at the top of his head one more time. “No problem, Cas.”

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Castiel wakes up an undetermined amount of time later, his eyes groggy as he blinks into consciousness. The smell of chicken soup wafting from the end table beside him catches his senses first, followed by the sight of Dean sitting in an arm chair at the end of his bed, his head lowered and focused on a book in his lap. The sight is almost enough to make him smile, but the dry scratchy feeling in his throat overpowers that desire and causes him to cough.

Dean startles and his head snaps up as the cough wracks through Cas’ body. He drops his book on the chair and slowly approaches Cas’ bed, lowering himself to sit on the edge with one ankle tucked in underneath himself and his body turned towards Cas. “Hey,” he says quietly, his hand coming up to rest on Castiel’s forehead. “How are ya’ feeling?”

“Impossibly worse,” Castiel answers honestly, causing a small laugh from Dean. “You don’t have to stay in here with me, you know.”

Dean shrugs one shoulder and blushes as his hand slides off Cas’ forehead. “S’okay. It’s your first cold… figured I should stick around for a day or so and make sure it goes okay.” Castiel gives him a small, shy smile, which Dean returns with his own. “I made you soup,” Dean adds, gesturing towards the bowl on the end table.

“Thank you,” Castiel says, a yawn forcing its way out of his mouth as he sits up against the headboard of the bed. “It smells divine.” He winces at the pain in his throat each time he tries speaking and his voice crackles.

Dean hands him the bowl of soup, staying seated at the edge of the bed as Castiel takes his first bite. The moan that escapes his mouth causes his cheeks to tint pink, but he can’t help himself. “It’s delicious,” he says quickly as explanation, allowing the hot soup to coat the inside of his throat and distract him from the pain. “I believe I see why soup could make you feel better with a cold,” he says, smiling around another spoonful. “I much prefer this to whatever is in that bottle,” he adds, scowling at the bottle full of medicine before taking another bite. He’s sure it would taste even better if his clogged up sinuses weren’t hindering his ability to taste.

“Told ya’,” Dean grins. They sit in silence for a while, Cas slowly eating his soup and savouring every bite as Dean watches. Once he’s finished, he places the bowl back on the table and sits back. He can feel wetness starting to leak out of his nose, and he instinctively sniffs it back up the best he can. Dean laughs and grabs a tissue from the box that he must have brought in to Castiel’s room.

“Here,” he says, holding out the tissue to Castiel. “Blow your nose.” Castiel accepts the tissue and does as he’s told, but it doesn’t help much. He can feel the phlegm stuck in his sinuses and he’s pretty sure it’s not going anywhere any time soon.

“Ugh,” he says, allowing his head to fall back and thump against the headboard. “I fail to see the point of this illness,” he says bitterly, scrunching up his nose in disgust.

Dean chuckles and hands him a glass of water. Apparently he’s filled it up for Castiel as well. “There is no _point_ , that’s why they suck. Maybe you can take that up with your douchebag father the next time you get a chance.”

“Perhaps I will have to,” Castiel agrees, taking the water from Dean and downing it within a matter of seconds. “Are you positive you should be spending this much time in such close proximity to me when I am ill?” he asks, slightly concerned for Dean’s health now that he thinks about it.

Dean shrugs nonchalantly again. “I’ll be fine. I don’t ever get sick. Just ask Sammy.” Castiel narrows his eyes at him, because he’s sure that Dean has fallen ill at least once in his existence. Castiel has been a human for barely a month now and he’s already succumbing to it. Dean laughs lightly at Cas’ glare and rolls his eyes. “Really, I’ll be fine. And if I get sick, well… no big deal.”

“You say that now, but if you were in my position you may feel differently. I would not wish this upon even my worst enemies,” Castiel says gravely, shaking his head as he does so.

Dean laughs again, taking the empty glass from where Castiel has clutched it against his chest. “You can be the biggest drama queen sometimes,” Dean says warmly, placing the glass back on the table.

Cas frowns at that, but he can’t be bothered to hold his face that way for very long. “How long do these colds usually last for?”

Dean bites his bottom lip and cringes at the question. “Well… could be a few days could be a few… weeks…” he trails off.

“ _Weeks_?” Cas asks incredulously. He lets his head thump back against the headboard a bit harder than he had planned and crinkles his nose from the slight pain. “Perhaps you should just leave me here alone to die.”

Dean rolls his eyes again and smirks. “You’re not going to _die._ You just have to take it. Lots of sleep should help.” He hesitantly takes one of Cas’ hands in his own and pats the back of it with his thumb. “I’ll be here the whole time. With soup. Promise.”

Cas tries his best to smile at the sentiment. The warming effect beneath his chest is almost enough to make him feel fully cured of this dreadful illness. He gently squeezes Dean’s hand back as thanks and closes his eyes again.

“Alright,” Dean says quietly, pulling the blanket back up to Castiel’s chin and tucking him in. “Get some more sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Castiel can feel the warm hand encasing his disappear, and his mind starts to drift off into slumber once more as he feels Dean’s weight lift off from the bed. A few seconds later, the weight is back as a pair of lips briefly brushes over the top of his head before disappearing just as quickly as they came. Castiel can’t keep the smile from his face as he listens to Dean’s footsteps head back towards his chair.

Maybe being sick isn’t _all_ bad.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

It’s been three and a half days, and Sam hasn’t left his room for anything besides making himself a meal (followed by quickly resealing himself back in his room). He’s still sort of sensitive from the trials, and he doesn’t want to risk getting any sort of sick – even if it is just a common cold. He’s starting to get a bit stir-crazy though. There’s only so much reading and browsing on the internet that you can do before everything seems to be repeating itself. He misses television and he misses social interactions.

Sam’s only seen Dean once since Cas got sick. He made an entire pot full of chicken noodle soup, and left it sitting out on the stove to keep warm. Sam had come out for a snack, and figured chicken noodle soup would be the perfect thing to tide him over until dinner time.

 _Big mistake_.

Dean emerged from Castiel’s room to fill up a glass of water, and once he saw Sam eating the soup that he had made Sam nearly got hit with a wooden spoon. “This is Cas’ soup you big lummox! Blah blah blah-” Sam wasn’t really paying full attention to what Dean was actually saying. It’s hard to focus when you’re running away from a crazy person wielding a spoon while trying to not spill your bowl of soup.

He hasn’t seen Dean come out of Castiel’s room since. Which is why he’s surprised to hear a door down the hall open and close quietly. Not having anything better to do, Sam gets up from his desk in his bedroom and slips through the door, tiptoeing past Cas’ room so not to wake him up and down to the end of the hallway.

He’s surprised to see Castiel rather than Dean, filling up a bowl with some of Dean’s chicken noodle soup out of the fridge. He’s got a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and his hair is a mess, but he certainly looks healthier than the last time Sam saw him.

“Cas?” Sam asks cautiously, walking in to the kitchen. “You look better. How do you feel?”

Cas puts the bowl of soup in the microwave and turns it on for seventeen minutes before turning back to give Sam a small smile. “Somewhat better. Thank you for asking, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes go wide at the timer and he smiles back at Cas, then gently pushes him out of the way and resets the timer for two minutes instead. “Good, that’s good to hear. Sorry I haven’t been around, I just don’t want to risk getting sick,” he says, giving Cas a small apologetic smile.

Cas nods his head in understanding. “I understand, Sam. I would also prefer you didn’t risk it. I fear I barely pulled through in my healthy state, so I can only imagine how this would affect yourself.”

Sam ducks his head and tries his best to hide his smile at Cas’ over-dramatics. “Yeah, no, you’re probably right, Cas. You’re definitely a fighter.”

Castiel nods in agreement and takes a spoon out from the drawer. “Well, it was difficult, but I imagine Dean’s assistance helped a fair amount. It’s just unfortunate that his kindness comes at a price,” he adds, frowning at the microwave as he waits for the soup to finish heating up.

“A price?” Sam asks worriedly.

Cas nods his head gravely as the timer goes off and the microwave beeps. “I regret to inform you that your brother appears to have caught my infliction,” he says, pulling the bowl of soup out of the microwave and closing the little door.

“You’re kidding?” Sam replies, his eyebrows shooting up to the top of his head. Dean hasn’t gotten sick in _years_.

“He has a fever, he is coughing, and his nose is leaking the same unpleasant fluids that mine has been. He has attempted to deny it, but he fell asleep sitting up in my bed nearly 4 hours ago and hasn’t woken up since. I felt it only fair that I return the favour,” he says, gesturing to the soup in his hands as he starts walking down the hallway.

“Well, good luck with that,” Sam says, watching Castiel open the door to his bedroom with the bowl of soup in one hand. Dean’s never been the easiest patient, mainly because he refuses to admit when he’s hurt or sick and he probably feels guilty when people try to do stuff for him.

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas answers solemnly, nodding his head once. “And pray for us,” he adds, entering the room like he’s headed towards his inevitable doom. The door closes quietly behind him, just in time to block out Sam’s fit of laughter from the kitchen.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've decided I will be doing one more chapter before calling this finished. I should also mention that I have started writing a new one shot and if you're interested, stick around for that!
> 
> Thank you everyone for the comments and kudos!
> 
> -ArticulateFiction


	12. The Beginning Of The Rest Of Our Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys take down a werewolf, Castiel has his first experience with high-dosage pain medication, and Dean and Castiel finally *ahem* talk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So, so so so sorry about how long this last chapter took. There was a recent death in the family and some drama around that. Plus, I wanted to make sure this chapter was exactly how I wanted it to be since it will be the final chapter in this story. But today is a holiday (Family Day in Canada) so I buckled down and finished the last bit for you guys.
> 
> I really, really appreciate everyone who's stuck with it this long, and I hope this ending will be what you guys are looking for.
> 
> Please enjoy!

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

 

CHAPTER 12:

The Beginning of the Rest of Our Lives

 

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

It’s been a few months since Cas started living with the Winchesters in the bunker, and every day has been an experience for Dean. Cas has learned so much from him and his brother, but Dean is happy to report that he’s learned quite a lot as well. He’s learned a lot about himself, about what he _really_ wants in life, and that’s come to be both surprising and not at the same time.

If you had told Dean Winchester ten years ago that he would befriend and fall in love with a nerdy angel of the Lord dressed in a guy’s body, he would probably have punched you in the face. But life has a funny way of throwing the Winchesters curve balls, and maybe they don’t always have to be for the worse.

Dean has led a hunter’s life, and probably will until it inevitably kills him, and he’s always assumed that he wouldn’t be able to find true love and settle down. How could he possible explain everything that’s happened to him, everything that’s made him _him,_ without sounding completely insane? How could he make sure that his wife isn’t killed by some horrible creature that holds a grudge towards him? How could he promise to always be there knowing that anything could happen in his crazy fucked-up life that could take him away? He couldn’t. He had made peace with that, let himself carry on living a single man’s life, occasionally finding a bar girl to get an occasional fix, but never really believing he’d ever make anything out of it.

Now though, he realizes that he doesn’t have to worry about any of those things with Castiel. Cas knows everything Dean’s been through and still remains loyal to him despite all of it. Cas would happily fight anything that came looking to hurt Dean. And if Dean needed to leave, Cas would follow. He always does in the end. Dean doesn’t have to give up the shitty life he’s made for himself, but he can certainly make it better.

He knows his feelings aren’t just one-sided either. He can practically feel the tension between him and Cas whenever they’re in the same room, and he’s more than ready to act on it. He’s gotten over the Cas-is-a-dude thing, he’s gotten over his long-term relationship insecurities, and he’s constantly thinking about how much better his life will be if things would just _stop coming up._

He’s inwardly cursing the werewolf that’s chasing them for ruining his opportunity _yet again_. If only he had had, like, thirty more minutes alone with Cas before Sam had called and said he had found their guy standing behind him in the grocery line. And you can’t just _not_ go after a mass murderer when you have the opportunity. You drop everything and you chase that son of a bitch down and you _murder the shit out of him_.

So that’s what they had done, or at least what they had _tried_ to do. They had run across the street from their motel, waited until the guy had left, and made their move. Of course he had run away, so they had chased him, but as soon as they had gotten to a secluded enough area within the woods, the guy transformed and started chasing _them_.

If they hadn’t wasted all their silver bullets taking crappy shots while trying to run, this wouldn’t be an issue. But Cas hasn’t had a whole lot of practice with guns yet, and even Dean can’t always hit a target when barrelling through a forest at full speed, ducking under branches and trying to differentiate between a werewolf and a tree.

Now they’re pretty much running for their lives, both of them panting and covered in sweat, dirt, and a bit of blood from some thorny branches that have slapped them over and over. Nothing that they have on them is going to take this guy down, so their best bet is to get back out of the forest where he might risk being seen by the locals who have come to trust him. He’s obviously worried about exposing himself in front of them if he led the two hunters here.

Adrenaline is the only thing that seems to keep Dean going as he desperately pushes himself to keep running towards the edge of the forest. He can hear Cas gasping for breath beside him, which is all he the confirmation needs to make sure that he’s still safe. They’re _so close_ and he can practically see the street on the outskirt of the forest that they need to get to, and low and behold there’s Sammy, slamming the Impala to a halt at the edge of the forest and hopping out. He must have gotten the car from across the street once he saw Dean and Cas chasing the guy away from the store, _god bless that big brain of his._

Suddenly, the breathing coming from the body on his left rushes out in a sharp gasp, followed by a grunt as the sound of something hitting a tree rings through Dean’s ears. Dean skids to a stop and snaps his head behind him, horrified to see that the creature managed to catch up with them and is pinning Castiel down, mouth gaping and going in for a bite to the throat.

Dean’s brain doesn’t have enough time to catch up to his body as he instantly lunges at the werewolf, knocking him to the ground and successfully stopping Cas from becoming puppy chow. All he can think about is how he has to protect Cas no matter what, and how fucking _sorry_ this thing is gonna’ be for even laying a hand on him.

Unfortunately, now he’s got to deal with snapping teeth angrily trying to get to _his_ throat as he wrestles with the beast, barley registering the pain of claws slashing his biceps as he does so. He’s vaguely aware of the sound of Sam running towards them before a shot is finally fired and sails right through the creature’s forehead. With the threat neutralized, Dean’s running towards where Cas is still lying on the forest floor, a few gashes of his own causing blood to seep through his t-shirt.

“Cas?” Dean asks frantically, grabbing each side of Cas’ face with his hands. He needs Cas to be alive more than anything right now – he’ll never forgive himself if things between them end before they could even get started.

Relief flushes through him as he realizes that Cas’ eyes are open and he’s still breathing, but he’s hissing in pain as he tries to sit up. “Cas, man, are you okay?”

“Dean,” he breathes out, grasping onto Dean’s hands with his own once he’s fully upright. “I’m fine,” he insists, looking towards where the werewolf lays motionless, Sam standing over it and staring down at them with concern. “Is it dead?”

Sam nods his head and gives him a tight lipped smile as confirmation. “Good,” Cas says, allowing his hands to drop from where Deans’ are still glued to his face. “I’m fine, really,” Cas says sincerely, staring at Dean as he does so. Dean’s always been good at letting on just how worried he is with a single facial expression when someone he loves is in danger.

Dean drops his gaze from Cas’ and allows his eyes to roam over Cas’ injuries. His hands drop from Cas’ face and come to lift Cas’ shirt up to inspect the wound for himself, surprised to see they’re not as deep as Dean would have thought. They probably aren’t even as deep as the one Dean’s got on his own body. Still, he won’t be satisfied until the wounds are properly cleaned and dressed and he knows that Cas is safe.

“Come on,” he says firmly, standing up and pulling Cas up with him. “We gotta’ get that cleaned before anything gets infected.” He knows he’s probably overreacting and acting like a mother hen, but he’d nearly thought he’d lost Cas back there and he’s just happy to have him alive.

Cas frowns down at Dean as he stands. “You’re hurt as well,” he points out, gently touching the area around Dean’s bicep where the werewolf’s claws had taken a good swipe at him.

“Alright, I’ll just do this myself then,” Sam grunts sarcastically from a few metres ahead of them, dragging the lifeless werewolf behind him as he heads for the car. Dean snaps out of it and heads toward Sam, grabbing a leg and helping to lift. Cas does the same with the other and they eventually get the body into the back of the trunk.

“Okay, let’s get back to the motel and clean you guys up, then we’ll head back to the bunker. We’re only a couple of hours away and we don’t want to stick around here too long,” Sam says, opening up the driver’s side door and climbing in, much to Dean’s discomfort.

“Agreed,” Cas says, taking his spot in the back. Dean reluctantly climbs into the passenger seat, not willing to argue with Sam right now about him driving. The pain in his arm is starting to set in, and he’s not sure he could drive right now any ways.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

The cuts in his chest were a bit deeper than he had thought they would be, and it wasn’t until they were on their way back to the motel and the adrenaline was starting to dissipate that Castiel really started to feel the pain. It took about an hour for Sam to clean and stitch-up his and Dean’s wounds, and then Cas was being herded into the Impala after being given enough painkillers to knock out a horse. Being injured was never any fun, but at least there were things that could lessen the pain.

Dean had warned him that the drugs were rather strong ones, but that they’d help him sleep through the pain. Now Dean is in the passenger seat, already starting to nod off from his own dose of drugs as Sam pulls out of the motel’s parking lot and onto the road. Cas is struggling to keep his eyes open as he watches trees go by out the window, absently scratching at the bandages wrapped around his torso.

“Don’t scratch,” Sam says sternly, peeking at Castiel in the rear-view mirror.

“But it’s itchy,” Castiel replies, frowning back at him. “How long must I wear these bandages for?”

“Until everything’s healed over and can’t get infected,” Dean says from the passenger seat, eyes still closed and head lolled to the side.

Castiel yawns in reply and stretches his arms up in the air, wincing at the pain it sends through his chest. “Hasn’t humanity perfected a better way to deal with werewolf-related injuries?” he whines, allowing his head to hit the back of his seat and his eyes to shut as he starts to give in to sleep.

Sam laughs quietly from the front. “Humanity isn’t even _aware_ of werewolf-related injuries, Cas. You’ll just have to suck it up for a while.”

He opens his eyes again, but this time the trees outside the window are blurry and twitching. It’s starting to make him feel nauseous. “Why must the trees move like that?”

“Err… moving?” Sam asks confusedly, looking out at the trees himself. “What are you talking about, Cas?”

Cas looks out the window again, and sure enough, the trees are moving. _Everything_ is moving. “The _trees,”_ he says again. “The trees are dancing around, like… like _insects_.” Why are they doing that? It’s starting to make him angry.

“They aren’t moving, Cas. The car is moving,” Sam says. Castiel turns to look at him in the mirror, and sees him smirking as he watches the road. He’s _enjoying_  this.

“You’re one of them!” Castiel slurs angrily, trying his best to keep his eyes open.

“What?” Sam asks, the smirk turning into more of a grin. “One of the trees?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, his eyes closing again. “It’s so obvious now. You’ve always been so… so _tall_. You’re controlling them. Instructing them to make me feel ill.”

This time Sam’s laughter escapes his mouth and he ducks his head. “Cas,” he says, still smiling as he talks. “You don’t think I’d actually ask the trees to make you feel sick, do you?”

Castiel ponders on that, but his head is swimming and he feels woozy so it’s difficult to concentrate. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t do that to me,” he finally answers. “We are friends. But perhaps you could ask them to stop?”

Sam laughs again and shakes his head. “Alright, I’ll ask them. Maybe try sleeping it off for a while, though. I bet they’ll have stopped when you wake up.”

Castiel doesn’t need to be told twice, and the last thing he hears before finally falling asleep is Sam politely asking the trees to stop moving and the sound of Dean’s sleepy laughter from ahead of him.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

Dean is shaken awake by his brother, and it takes a few seconds for him to realize that they’re already home at the bunker. He must have been knocked out cold for _hours_.

“Back already?” he asks sleepily, pulling himself upright in his seat and looking at the back seat. Sam’s leaning in the back driver-side door, gently shaking Castiel and giggling at the grumpy sounds the ex-angel is making.

“Yeah, you guys have been out for about four and half hours,” he says, trying a second time to wake Castiel by slapping one side of his face. Cas responds with a low growl and curls into himself, away from Sam. Sam sighs exasperatedly and looks to Dean. “Little help?”

Dean rolls his eyes and gets out of the passenger seat, slowly coming around to Sam’s side as he tries to rub the sleepiness out of his face with both hands. “Here, move,” he says, gently pushing Sam aside. Sam does as he’s told and heads for the trunk, pulling the duffle bags out one by one.

“Cas,” Dean says gently, one hand caressing the side of Castiel’s face. Cas seems to burry into it, but besides that there’s no response. “Cas,” he tries again. “Come on, man, we’re home. Wouldn’t you rather sleep in your nice warm bed?”

Castiel frowns, but it seems like he’s starting to come to. “Yes,” he grumbles out, eyes still refusing to open.

“Well, then, come on,” Dean says, rearranging his arms so that they’re underneath Castiel’s armpits. He gently pulls him out of the car and steadies him as Cas stands on his own, finally opening his eyes just a little bit to glare at Dean.

“My bandages are itchy,” he growls, scratching at his abdomen.

“Hey,” Dean says, grabbing Cas’ hand to stop his itching. Apparently Cas is still a bit out of it, probably because of the pain meds. Dean’s a bit more immune to their effects, he’s been taking them all his life. “Sam told you not to scratch!”

“Sam isn’t the boss of me,” Cas says bitterly, his eyes starting to close again as he leans back against the Impala. “Sam is affiliated with the _trees_.”

Sam laughs from the trunk and slams it shut, carrying all three of their bags towards the bunker. “Alright, you can handle this on your own,” Sam says slyly, opening the door with one hand and smirking at Dean as he heads down the stairs.

Dean turns back to look at Castiel who appears to be sleeping again, barely keeping himself upright against the car. _Stupid Sam._

“Cas,” Dean says more firmly, shaking one of his shoulders in an attempt to wake him up again. “You can’t just sleep standing up against the car.”

“Watch me,” Cas says defiantly with a cheeky smirk, still refusing to lift his head or open his eyes. Dean is starting to get frustrated – he wants to be in his own bed too, he doesn’t have time to deal with this.

“Alright, you brought this upon yourself,” he answers, swiftly bending down and throwing Cas over his one good shoulder, causing a high-pitched yelp from Cas. He’s a bit heavier than Dean anticipated, but Dean’s carried heavier things farther distances.

“ _Dean,_ ” Castiel growls out, trying his best to free himself in his sleepy-state as Dean closes the car door and heads for the bunker. “Put me _down_!”

“Sorry, buddy,” Dean says, slapping Cas once on the ass as he pulls open the bunker door with one hand and heads down the stairs. “You’re not the only tired one here, and I do not have time for your grumpy bullshit,” he says with a grin.

He makes his way through the living room, Castiel kicking the whole way. Sam looks up when they walk by and bites his lip to keep his laughter in, Dean giving him an epic glare in response. His shoulder is really starting to get sore by the time he finally makes it to Castiel’s room, and he’s relieved when he gets to slump Cas off his shoulder and flat on his back on his bed.

“There,” Dean says, struggling to catch his breath. “Now, isn’t that better?”

Cas’ eyes are already closed and he smiles dreamily as he nods his head. “Much,” he agrees, looking as high as a kite. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean sighs and pulls the blanket over Cas, trying his best to tuck him in. “You’re welcome, you idiot.” He turns the lights off and leaves the room, making his way to his own room to get some sleep. He can talk to Castiel tomorrow. He _will_ talk to Cas tomorrow.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

The next morning, Castiel wakes up in his own bed and with an intense itch on his chest. He instinctively reaches up to scratch it, but the feeling of bandages around his body stops him when he remembers what Sam said.

Oh _god_ , Sam. Poor, poor Sam.

He bolts up from his bed, still wearing yesterday’s t-shirt and jeans apparently, and wanders out to the living room. Sam is already awake, eating a bowl of cereal in front of the television. He turns his head towards Castiel and smirks when he sees him standing there.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam says, smiling around a mouthful of cereal. “Have a good sleep?”

Castiel can feel himself blushing and he rubs his hand over his forehead. “I apologize for my behaviour last night. I believe the pain medication was having a strange… effect, on me.” He can remember everything he said, and he feels like an idiot.

Sam snorts and swallows his mouthful. “So you don’t think I’m… what was it, again? _Affiliated with the trees?_ ”

Castiel groans in reply and heads for the kitchen, pointedly ignoring Sam’s hysterical laughter from the living room. He’s said he’s sorry, that’s all that’s needed of him.

He starts to make himself some toast and takes out the peanut butter from the cupboard. He’s nearly finished spreading the peanut butter across his toast when Dean wanders into the room, still in his underpants and an old t-shirt that Castiel has noticed he likes to sleep in.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel says calmly, remaining focused on his task.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Sleep well?”

Castiel lays the knife in the sink and turns to face Dean with his toast in hand, taking a bite as he leans back against the counter. “Very. Apologies for my… behaviour. Last night.” He can feel himself blushing again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean says, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “We’ve all been there.”

Castiel nods and gives him a tight-lipped smile in response. “Would you like some toast?” he asks, turning around, grabbing his second piece and offering it up to Dean.

Dean bites his lip and accepts it, leaning beside Castiel against the counter and taking a bite, chewing slowly. “Thanks,” he says quietly, smiling at Cas again. There’s something behind his eyes, though, that Cas doesn’t find sincere.

“Is something wrong?” he finds himself asking, watching with interest as Dean’s eyes widen fractionally before trying to revert to a false state of calmness. Something is definitely the matter.

“Err…” Dean says, swallowing down the toast in his mouth. “Well… no. Not _wrong…_ , but err…”

“But…?” Cas mimics, waiting for Dean to explain. He doesn’t have a good feeling about what’s going to come out of Dean’s mouth next.

Dean sighs quietly. “I think we need to talk…” he finally says, taking another gigantic bite out of his toast.

“Talk about what?” Castiel counters, popping the last bit of toast into his mouth and licking his fingers. He’s trying to play it cool, but on the inside he can tell it’s not going to be good, he can just _feel it…_

Dean finishes the rest of his toast in one bite and swallows it down, wincing as it goes down his throat. He looks more nervous than Castiel has ever seen him, and Castiel can feel the panic festering inside of himself. “Err, can we do this somewhere else? My room, maybe?”

Castiel nods his head slowly, growing more and more curious as he follows Dean down the hall and into his bedroom. What could he have done? What could he have possibly done to make Dean want to talk to him? “What is it you wish to talk about?” he asks again, watching with earnest as Dean closes the door behind them, waiting for the ball to drop.

“I want… to talk about us,” Dean says slowly, turning around and leaning his back against the closed door. His expression is difficult to read, but Castiel can see what might look like… _fear_?

“Us?” Cas repeats, trying to search in his mind for recent events that could have hindered their relationship. He had been so careful since coming to live at the bunker, making sure he did everything he could to keep Sam and Dean happy…

“I know what you’re thinking,” Dean says suddenly, stepping forward towards Castiel. “You haven’t done anything wrong.” He still looks nervous as he takes another careful step forward.

Castiel tries to swallow down the worry rising within him. “Then what is it? What do you mean by ‘talk about us’?”

Dean closes his eyes shut tight and breathes out a long, dramatic breath. “Look, Cas… I was hoping I wouldn’t have to, you know… spell this out for you,” he says, his hands coming up and motioning between himself and Castiel. “I’m not – I’m not good with, _words_. With this kind of thing… you know?” Castiel just stares back at him, trying to decipher what it is Dean wants to talk about. Spell _what_ out for him? Since when are words difficult for _Dean_ to come by?

Just when he thinks he can’t take any more dramatic silence, Dean sighs again and shakes his head. Two long strides and half a second later, he has both hands gripping the side of Castiel’s face, his lips enveloping Castiel’s in a warm pressure that causes them both to close their eyes and melt into each other.  

_Oh._

Everything else seems to fade away as Castiel allows himself to sink into the feeling of Dean’s lips moving against his. Nothing in his existence, both human and angelic, has ever felt so perfect. If he ever makes it to heaven, this would be his greatest reward. He wants to do this forever.

He makes a sound of protest as Dean finally pulls away, their foreheads still touching and their breaths mingling together between their faces. It takes a few more seconds before Dean finally breaks the silence.

“That wasn’t as weird as I thought it’d be,” he says, a smile slowly spreading across his face as his hands trail away from Castiel’s cheeks and settle on his hips instead. “A little, err… stubbly. But besides that…” Castiel feels himself mimicking Dean’s smile as he lets the idea of what just happened sink in further. “What’d, err… what’d you think?” Dean adds as an afterthought, his smile wilting just a little bit as he waits for Castiel’s verdict.

Castiel grins bigger and closes the distance between them a second time as an answer to Dean’s question. He can feel Dean’s smile against his lips, and the previous worry seated within his chest has been dominated by an intense joy that Castiel has never before felt. He allows his hands to come up and touch Dean this time, one hand wrapping around the back of his neck and the other resting on his shoulder. He pulls Dean in closer and opens his mouth a small amount, deepening their kiss.

The kiss becomes more and more heated as time goes on, and it isn’t long before Castiel can feel his body reacting accordingly. It’s a new and strange feeling for him, but it’s _definitely_ _not_ a bad one. Dean’s still clad in just a t-shirt and his boxer-briefs, so it isn’t hard to feel Dean’s body behaving the same way. It makes him feel inexplicably happy to see that he can elicit that sort of response from Dean despite his male form.

Dean eventually breaks the kiss again, still clinging to Castiel with a sort of possessiveness that causes his heart to swell. They’re practically panting into each other’s mouths as they try to catch their breath, neither wanting to let go of the other.

“So, this is okay with you?” Dean asks quietly, still breathing harshly as his green eyes stare down at Castiel.

Castiel bites his lip and nods frantically. “‘Okay’ would be an understatement,” he says shyly, blushing at Dean’s saucy grin. “Is this okay with _you?”_ he asks in return.

Dean’s smile softens into a more sincere one. “It’s weird, but it’s awesome,” he says honestly, leaning in to peck Castiel’s lips reassuringly before leaning back out. “I didn’t want to wait any longer,” he says more seriously. “Yesterday made me realize that anything can happen and neither of us might have as much time as we’d like.”

Castiel smiles sadly but nods in agreement. It was true. The life of a hunter is not often a long one. He leans in and kisses Dean again, trying to avoid having to think about that. He’ll make sure he does everything in his power to ensure they live as long as they possibly can, especially if it means he can do this whenever he pleases.

There’s still a lot they should probably talk about. A lot that Castiel wants to tell Dean. He wants to tell him that he’s not going to leave this time, that he wants to stay with Dean forever if he’ll let him. Wants to tell him that he loves him, probably more than he should. But for now, this is more than enough. Standing here, kissing Dean like there’s no tomorrow.

Castiel pulls away from the kiss a minute later as a thought crosses his mind again. “So you don’t care that I, err… have a... you know,” he says awkwardly, motioning with his head down to his groin.

Dean laughs and nuzzles his nose against Castiel’s. “A dick?” he says, laughing at the blush tinting Castiel’s cheeks. “I realized a while ago that when it comes to you, it doesn’t matter. Besides,” he says huskily, leaning in close Castiel’s ear. “I think it’s pretty clear that I don’t care as much as I thought I would,” he whispers, making his arousal obvious with a slow thrust of his hips.

Castiel bites his lip in an attempt to stifle the moan that threatens to escape his throat, and the next thing he knows his tongue is fighting with Dean’s in another heated kiss.

Maybe humanity has some perks after all.

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

It’s been about an hour since Sam pretended not to notice Dean and Castiel both going into Dean’s room and shutting the door behind them. He really hoped they were working things out, because he can only take so much obvious sexual tension before he’s bound to snap.

The idea that his brother and best friend could actually soon be in a committed, long-term relationship was a strange idea for him. His brother has never been with anyone long-term, and Castiel has never been in romantic relationship with, well… _anyone_. This would be good for both of them.

There’s no doubt in Sam’s mind now that Dean and Castiel belong together. They’ve always been good together, as friends, as co-workers. They both obviously love each other, that’s for sure. There are only so many people Dean would tackle a werewolf for with nothing but his bare hands.

“Hey, err… Sammy?” Dean asks timidly from the living room entrance. Sam turns to find his brother’s head poking around the corner, his hair rather disheveled looking and his body hidden behind the wall.

Well, at least he still as clothes on…

“Yeah, Dean?” he asks, giving him a smile. He’s pretty sure he knows what his brother has to tell him, but he wants Dean to know that he supportive.

Dean blushes and clears his throat. “I just, err… wanted to let you know now. Cas an I… well,” he says nervously, his blush darkening from pink to scarlet. “We, err… we’re kind of, you know. Together. Now. So, just so you know… okay?”

Sam gives him another reassuring smile. “Alright, thanks for telling me,” he says. He really is proud of his brother and he’s happy to see him happy. If anyone deserves this, it’s Dean. “I’m really happy for you guys.”

The nervousness seems to drain out of Dean’s face and he returns the smile with one of his own. “Alright, cool. Thanks, Sammy.” He pulls away from the doorway and Sam can hear his footsteps head back down the hall.

“Just…!” Sam says loudly, waiting for the footsteps to come back towards him. Dean’s head pokes back around the wall and he stares at Sam with anticipation, waiting for his answer.

“Just what?”

Sam puts on a mischievous grin before adding “Just try to keep it down in there. I have a feeling Castiel is a screamer.”

“Oh, for – _jesus_ ,” Dean grimaces, heading back down the hallway. Sam hears a “Fucking asshole…” before hearing the door to Dean’s room open and close once more. He can’t help his booming laughter as he hears Castiel shout “– a WHAT?!” from down the hall.

Oh yeah, this is going to be _beyond fun._

\--*--*--*--*--*--*--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so that's that, folks! Hopefully that ending was sufficient for all of you beautiful people.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who has followed the story since the first chapter, your comments really do make a difference when pushing myself to write more and more. You all rock!
> 
> I am in the process of writing a Destiel one-shot involving Castiel and Dean being stuck together, so there's that to look forward to for anyone who is sad to see this story end. I may or may not write a couple of other one-shots that go along with this story, you never know!
> 
> Thanks again, everyone! And I really to appreciate all the comments, reviews and kudos. :) ♥
> 
> -ArticulateFiction


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